


Phase One: Genesis

by The_Freelancer_Collaboration



Series: Project Freelancer Saga [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Collaborative Works, Gen, Multiple Authors, multiple POVs, originally posted on ff.net, re-post
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 81,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Freelancer_Collaboration/pseuds/The_Freelancer_Collaboration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Book One of the Project Freelancer Saga, brought to you by a collaboration of writers, determined to document the rise and fall of the mysterious Project Freelancer, from its ambitious origins to its shattering fall. Told from the point of view of a variety of members of the project, from the Director to the various Freelancers, as we discover the true reason as to why we were here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

**The Director**

**Written By NicKenny**

* * *

_"At the end of your life, you will never regret not having passed one more test, not winning one more verdict or not closing one more deal. You will regret time not spent with a husband, a friend, a child, or a parent." -_ Barbara Bush

* * *

I hear her steps grow quieter and quieter behind me as she walks away, leaving me alone but for the raging figure floating above my shoulder. I long to call her back, to apologize for all that I've put her through, but I cannot. The time when apologies could have bridged this rift between us had passed by long ago. My chance for redemption was long gone. It was time I resigned myself to my fate.

"You were my greatest creation," I murmur, the finality of the situation finally dawning on me. This would be our last goodbye. Except I'd never said goodbye...

The figure by my shoulder snorts angrily, assuming that I was talking to him, practically vibrating with anger. "I don't know what I am," he retorts, disdain evident in his voice. "But I do know this - I'm more than just a copy of you. I'm better than you."

My eyes remain fixed on the screen as I quietly reply, "I wasn't speaking to you." At some level, his words resonate with me. I can hardly deny their truth, after all. I may be many things, but a liar isn't one of them, especially not the kind who lie to themselves.

Epsilon leaves the room, shaking his head slowly, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I wonder what he must think of me, and I know that his hatred is justified. However, I have only two regrets, and my actions towards him and his kind are not one of them. Everything I have done, I would do all over again, just to have her back in my arms. That had been the purpose of the last few years, after all.

That was all I ever wanted. I have given up so much over my life, but I would give up the rest, just for one more day by her side. But no one can reverse death. No one can turn the clock back. No one can fix all of their mistakes.

_Not even me._

I raise my head, lost in my own self-pity and regret, and make one of the last requests I'll ever make to the one companion who always stood by my side, who remained with me from the very beginning until now - the end. "Play it again, F.I.L.S.S."

A woman's soft voice swiftly replies, just as it always has before. Computers tended to remain the same way they had always been. AI were no different. "Beginning playback."

The video begins to play again and my eyes drink in every motion, ears absorb every word. If only I could reach through the screen and be back there, in that moment, the last time I ever saw her. 

The last time I felt truly complete.

I wish I could go back, take back every harsh word, every argument, every stupid comment. I wish I had been the man I should have been, the man I would be if only she was here with me. But I'd never get that chance now.

I sigh and make another last request of my AI companion, regardless of how much it hurts me. "Thank you, F.I.L.S.S. Now, I would like you to erase all our files except for this one."

She hesitates, which I find curious. An AI of her level shouldn't be able to hesitate; they shouldn't be able to express real emotion. "All our files? Does that include me, Director?"

I nod to myself, blinking away the tears which form in the corner of my eyes, but managing to keep my voice level. "It has been a pleasure working with you, F.I.L.S.S. I am sorry."

I really was. If there was any way that I could ensure her survival, I would. This was no way to repay her, but unfortunately I had no other choice. I couldn't risk someone finding her, learning all that she knew. I was already going to be labelled as a monster; I didn't want to supply them with extra ammunition. When the history books are written, my name will go down in the annals as a villian, but that was never how I intended all of this to turn out. I had such high hopes in the beginning. How had I fallen so far?

 

"And you as well, Director," she replies, though I barely hear this, my eyes locked on the screen in front of me, staring into the eyes of the woman that I once loved. The woman that I still love. The woman I have never been able to get over, never been able to forget.

_So this is it,_ I muse.  _This is where the great Director of Project Freelancer finally meets his end._ But first, oen final order. "And, before you do, please shut down all of the facility systems as well. Take everything offline."

She whirs away to herself, almost... puzzled.  _Curious_. She then informs me of facts that I already know, not fully understanding what I was asking her to do. After all, this sort of thing isn't something that AI's usually go into. It isn't a topic they'd be fully able to understand. "Director, this is a sealed facility. If I shut down all the systems, life support would not..."

I cut her off, this time my voice is filled with authority; commanding, not simply asking as I had before. "Thank you, F.I.L.S.S. Shut them all down. Lock me in."

She whirs away again, clearly contemplating my order, once again something that she shouldn't technically be able to do, until replying with a grudging: "Alright."

Does she understand the full meaning of my order? Maybe. It matters little now.

A few seconds pass before she does something which would have immediately piqued my interest, had I not been so focused on the woman on the screen in front of me, and ingoring the gun on the table to my left. She asks a question that neither assists her in carrying out the task at hand, nor will help her to do so in the future. Something that should be impossible for an AI programmed the way she was. "Was the project a success? Did you find what you were looking for?"

I smile to myself, amused at her question, although something inside me dies at this question. What I would have given to able to answer yes... "No. No, I did not. But I believe that I may have come very close. I wish... I wish I knew."

I guess that's all it comes down to, in the end. Wishing. I wish I could have talked her out of joining the UNSC. I wish I knew what I could have done to bring her back. I wish I knew where I went wrong. I wish I knew if there was a world after this one. I wish I knew whether she'd be waiting for me.

I wish so many things, but know so little. So this is how it ends? Wondering, terrified, like a child in a thunderstorm. So this is how the great Director Leonard Church goes out, not with a bang but with a whisper, like a candle in a gale.

F.I.L.S.S. is silent for a moment, and when she replies I'm barely listening once again, staring at the video of Allison as if reaching out my hand and touching the screen I would be able to pass straight through.

"I see."

Does she, though? Can she truly understand the meaning behind those words? Can she truly understand how much I wish I could have answered yes, how much I wish I knew if there was anything I could've done?

I dismiss her, my hand stretching out and grasping the gun, shaking slightly as I murmur: "Perhaps the next time around."

I raise the pistol to my chin, my hand shaking, a solitary tear trickling down the left side of my face as I stare into Allison's eyes for the last time, soaking in the last moments we had spent together, my mind lost in the past.

"It has been an honour, Sir," F.I.L.S.S. murmurs as I hear the doors close behind me. I incline my head, accepting her words and at the same time, accepting my fate. I stare into her eyes, knowing that I'd soon be done with her, knowing that I'd soon be complete again.

Her voice rings out over the loudspeakers, echoing the same words that she had told me time and time again, words which I had heard every time I watched this video. Words which still cut me to my core, even after all this time, every time I heard them. "Don't say goodbye. I hate goodbyes."

_Allison._

* * *

_Many Years Ago..._

"Good afternoon, Director," the man in front of me murmured softly, turning to face me, his back leaning against the railings of the bridge. "My name is –"

"I know exactly who you are, Counselor," I snapped, my lip curled in distaste. "I see the UNSC don't trust me to run this project without leaving someone behind to hold my hand."

The man held up his hands and shook his head slowly. "I assure you the UNSC had no such intentions. I applied for this position, which they saw fit to grant. I read many of your papers while studying in Corvus Academy, and when I saw that there was need for a…Counselor aboard your ship, I immediately handed in a transfer request."

I stared at him for a moment, before inclining my head in acknowledgement, seeing only the naked truth in his eyes.  _Perhaps this is a man I could have use for_ , I mused within the privacy of my own mind, although the jury was still out. I wasn't the sort of man who could just trust people. My years working for the UNSC had thought me that trust was too valuable a commodity to hand out freely. It had to be earned.

"Very well then Counselor. I shall look forward to working with you." I looked away from him, out through the glass of the observation deck, into the magnificence of space. "She is a fine vessel, is she not? More than I had expected them to grant me, given the circumstances that we find ourselves in."

"A fine ship sir, certainly. The name, indeed, has a certain aptitude. We live in a time of necessity, after all."

"And necessity is the mother of invention." I finish solemnly, smiling slightly. I turn away from the glass, striding towards the control platform, hands behind my back. Technicians rushed to-and-fro around me, making all the last minute checks and repairs before we left the relative safety of the planet's thermosphere.

"F.I.L.S.S.!" I bark, my tone commanding, my smile widening as the various screens lit up and took on the semblance of activity. "What is our status?"

The dozens of screens quickly flicked through a variety of images, and a woman's voice softly spoke up. "All current systems operational. Life support, online. Engines, online Defence systems, online. Shields, online. Artificial gravity, online. Ship's AI, the Freelancer Integrated Logistics and Security System, online. Waiting for your order, Director."

The Counselor smiled, evidently surprised. "I am impressed, Director." He murmurs, a slight tone of wonder in his voice. "I was not aware that the UNSC had granted this ship an AI."

I chuckled to myself, amused at his words. "Not a "Smart" AI, alas, but a damn good one for all of that. I should know, after all. I designed her. She was one of the first projects I undertook for the UNSC and, up until now at least, one of my most successful."

I smiled again, hands softly caressing the smooth metal surface of the control panel. The panel itself immediately lit up, holographically projecting the personnel records of eight people.

Records that I had not left open.

"F.I.L.S.S., when was the last time these files where opened?" I asked calmly, my eyes locked on the Counselor's suddenly worried eyes.

"Four minutes and thirty five seconds ago, sir," came the swift reply.

I took a step towards the Counselor, who visibly winced as my expression darkened. "I suppose you mean to tell me that viewing my files were a moment of weakness. Perhaps you couldn't wait for me to publish my next paper?" I remarked darkly, venom in each word.

"In my defence, sir. The files were hardly encrypted. And it is my job to psychologically analyse any and all personnel aboard this ship."

"Your job, Counselor, is to obey my orders. I am in command of this project, after all. I would advise you to bear that in mind in the future."

I fell silent, fuming slightly, and glanced back at the reports. Eight soldiers. It was a start, for now. Some of them were the finest soldiers the UNSC had ever trained, and one or two that I myself had personally picked out. They would do the job at hand, of that much I was certain. They would make the universe take note of Project Freelancer.

The Counselor is quiet for a moment, before inevitably opening his mouth once more. "I'm sorry sir, but may I ask one final question?"

I stared at him for a moment, irritated, before turning back to my reports, grudgingly muttering: "If you must."

He looked at me and then glances at the reports in front of me, and I was immediately able to guess what topic he has in mind. After all, anyone would make the connection.

"O-one of the names…" he began, stuttering over his words. "I just wanted to ask…if there is any…"

I cut him off, knowing exactly what question he was struggling to phrase. "I'm sure you're aware that I lost my wife over the course of this war, Counselor."

He nodded slowly, not realising that this was a statement, rather than a question, not exactly sure where I'm going with this line of answering.

"Losing my wife was the most difficult event that I've ever had to deal with. It almost destroyed me. I was a better man back then, Counselor, but if I can assure you on one thing it is that my grief has hardened me. Back then, I wouldn't have been fit for the responsability of running this project. And as this…woman, seems  _so_ intent on following in my wife's footsteps, well…I just don't want to be keeping myself awake at night, wondering if I could have done more, Counselor. Not this time. Not again."

He nodded again, seeming to understand, although I doubt if he  _truly_ could. I lost almost everything when Allison died. How could he, with his privileged background, ever understand that sort of pain? How could he, with his smooth words and oily mannerisms ever contemplate true, heart-breaking grief?

I dismissed him, turning back to the control panel, but just when he's almost made it to the door at the far side of the room I call him back, one last thing to impart.

"You may be interested to know, Counselor, that she was, in fact, one of the soldiers on the UNSC's list of recommendations. There is no room for nepotism here in Project Freelancer. In here, all that matters is that you're the best. There is no runners-up prize on the battlefield. There is no second place in war. You can file  _that_ in your report."

He nodded stiffly and I dismissed him once more, hearing the doors close behind him as he leaves the room. I put him out of my mind, for now, and turn back to the matters at hand. There is much to check up on, after all. I can't afford anything to go wrong. Not now. Not when we're this close.

"F.I.L.S.S., would you be so kind as to give me the current status of pelican Five Niner Two?"

She whirred away quietly to herself for a moment, before happily replying. "Pelican Five Niner Two has just left the facility and is on route to our location. All items have been loaded on board, as ordered. By my calculations it just arrive at our location in approximately five hours."

I nodded, acknowledging her words, and began smiling once more.  _All is going to plan._

I was glad that I had sent the Counselor away before asking this, however, as his curiosity would prove most…inconvenient at this time. If I could be certain that he was trustworthy, maybe I could let him in on this little secret. It was quite the achievement, after all.

For the moment, however, this would have to remain a secret, as I shuddered at the thought of the UNSC getting wind of this. For all the funds and assets they had granted, I had little doubt that what was currently in that Pelican would have me behind bars. After all, they weren't prepared for all of ONI's secrets to come out. Not yet, at least.

Regardless of the possible penalties, I couldn't let that armour go to waste. Even if it had been red-stamped for incineration by the UNSC, it was far too a valuable for us to simply destroy. While it was years behind what ONI currently were working with, without the sort of funding and equipment for augmentations that they had it was better than anything else that Project Freelancer had access to. Better than any other project had access to. More than good enough to give the Insurrectionists a reason to pause, and after that, the Covenant…

Not that they were the only things I had…obtained after my time in ONI. Sadly, all I could manage to get onto that pelican was the armour. I couldn't afford to rouse the suspicions of the UNSC this late in the game, and they surely would get more than a little suspicious if dozens of unscheduled freighter pelicans decided to visit the  _Mother of Invention_. Especially if the UNSC themselves had not authorised them. They had, after all, perfected the whole unscheduled pelican drop tactic. If politicians could get away with doing something not technically legal, they generally would, providing they always had a safeguard. Plausible deniability and all that jargon.

Despite this, I felt fairly confident that the various drops I had planned to take place over the next few weeks would go by without a hitch. The UNSC preferred to take the "we didn't know" approach to the vast majority of the actions of their various Projects. After all, nothing that ONI had done over the past few years could be considered to be ethical. My misdemeanours were minor, in comparison. After all, we were all servants to the greater good. The ends justify the means, and while the means are not savoury, the end is the survival of the human race. Surely there is no greater goal?

Suddenly, F.I.L.S.S. voice echoed through the room, interrupting my train of thought and bringing me back to the real world. "Director, pelican Four Seven Niner's E.T.A. is in approximately fifteen minutes. Do you want me to establish a connection?"

I nodded, turning to a screen to my left which lit up before me, displaying the triplicate logo of Project Freelancer. "Very well F.I.L.S.S., establish the connection. Could you also alert the Counselor? I will need to speak with him shortly." I pause, searching my memory for information. "Four Seven Niner was to escort…Agent Florida, correct."

"Correct sir, Agent Florida is currently on board. Patching you through now, sir."

I stood alert, hands behind my back as I gaze into the screen, feeling confident and satisfied, eager to meet one of those few selected to take part in this project. Finally, my agents were arriving. Finally, Project Freelancer would begin. Finally, I would be able to have my revenge, and let the ashes of my enemies rain through space for all eternity if they believe that they can stop me.

_Project Freelancer is officially operational._

_God help our enemies._


	2. Beneath The Mystery

**Chapter One - Beneath The Mystery**

**Agent Florida**

**Written by OhSoDeadly**

* * *

_"There are those soldiers who were born to fight and kill, and there are those who got forced into it by circumstance. Some want to do it, others feel they have to. Me, I don't know where I stand-somewhere in the middle, I'd guess. But I'll tell you something: for the life of me, I still don't know what Florida's deal is. Sometimes I think he thinks it's all a big game of cowboys and Indians."_ _-_ Agent North Dakota (extracts from personal logs made after going AWOL).

* * *

 

There wasn't much inside the D77H-TCI "Pelican" troop bay. Just two rows of seats, bathed in dim red light, a pair of emergency medkits on the walls, slots above the seats for holding weapons, D-rings on the floor for securing cargo, and one extremely annoying sign next to the little door that led to the cockpit.  _Do not engage the pilot in conversation while in flight/combat deployment. Penalties apply._  Underneath the typed script, someone had added, in thick black marker,  **THE KIND WHERE I CUT OFF YOUR BALLS.**  Gosh. There was no call for that!

For the entire flight from Vedarris III, Butch had sat there in his seat, growing more and more antsy, staring at the sign as if he could make it disappear by sheer willpower. No dice, though. It stayed in place, and so did he. Waiting for this humdrum ride to end, and to reach their destination. He couldn't wait! Not just so he could give his legs the ol' workout and get the blood pumping, but to explore his soon-to-be home. The Mother of Invention. Just thinking the name sent goosebumps a-runnin' over his skin. What a mysterious name! Most of the ships he'd been on during the war had been pretty boring and uncreative, like the Relentless, or the Land of Fire, or-good heavens!-the All-Devouring Abyss. But this one sounded like all manner of top-secret and spine-tingling things were happening onboard. He wondered what it looked like. He wondered what its schematics were. He wondered if he'd be allowed to have a look around. He wondered-heck, he just plain wondered! But all he could do was sit there, waiting.

Project Freelancer...what a strange name. Freelancing what, exactly? Were they going to be soldiers for hire, going to help wherever they were needed? Who knew? Then again, the creepy-sounding black man who'd approached him about the project had said he would be part of a team, so that probably didn't work out. Freelancer. He tried the word out for size. "Freelancer. Hello, I am Butch Flowers, and I represent Project Freelancer." He chuckled at his impression of a shady and secretive special agent, and then stared guiltily at the cockpit. He hoped he wasn't disturbing the pilot with his rambling.

The pilot hadn't said anything to him, apart from the usual fare of "Taking off" and "Hang on" and so forth. He'd tried to be friendly upon meeting her (a woman pilot, he'd learned, was never in a good mood), even dropping his carefully packed duffle bag to shake her hand, but she'd just eyed him, chewing her gum inside her helmet, and motioned for him to get onboard. Honestly! What rudeness from what sounded like a young lady. Good manners didn't cost a nickel or a dime. If that had been one of his daughters, he'd have had no truck with that-

Darn it. He'd gone and done it again, thinking about the past. He stared down at the floor, jaw clenching, willing the bad memories to go back into that dark little corner of his mind he'd reserved for anything from his old life. After a minute or two, he was successful, and his gaze levelled out again, his cheerful smile once again in place. Not that there was anyone around to see it. He sighed, the plaintive noise filling the small space. Boooooooored!

His gaze wandered, and he noticed that a porthole window on the starboard side hadn't been closed properly. Outside, he saw the glimmers of stars. Fascinated, he unbuckled his seat, went to the little window, and stared out at the space around them.

Space. No matter how many times he saw it, he never got tired of it. So many stars, so many planets! Sure, of course there were nasty no-good aliens in it too, but that didn't mean the galaxy was a nasty no-good place. You always had to see the positives, or you were in for a bad time, every time!

He stood there for a while, just watching the cosmos slip by, until a squawk came over the speakers, and the pilot's voice filled the passenger bay.  _"Hey, new guy. Incoming transmission from the Director. Patching you in."_ A burp of static and she was gone.

In a little corner of blackness, a white square flared to life, then changed to blue. A TV screen he'd missed! His peepers just weren't what they used to be. On the screen, a man came into view. He looked a little older than Butch himself, had greying hair, spectacles, and faded green eyes. He wore what looked like a typical Navy officer uniform, only that it was grey. His hands were clasped behind his back, and when he spoke, it was in a Texas drawl. Butch tried not to laugh at the strange inflections, and tried to stand at attention. While sitting down. Haha! Good one.

_"Flowers, correct?"_  Butch frowned internally. It had been phrased like a question, but it sure as shooting didn't sound like one. But he knew his duty, so he saluted and said, "Yes sir! Reporting for duty, sir! Happy to be here, sir!"

_"I can see that. At ease."_  He was silent a moment, as he consulted something off-screen, then he refocused on Butch, eyes narrowed like an emerald laser beam.  _"Very well. Listen closely now, Flowers. This Project is designed to choose, from a wide pool of candidates selected from the military, the best and brightest. These chosen ones will form a specialised team of elite men and women, to be unleashed against the Covenant when the time is right. To aid in this endeavour, the UNSC has granted us special authority and equipment. However, we stand as an independent entity, subordinate to the UNSC, but virtually autonomous."_  He seemed to curl his lip at this last part a bit.  _"Previous identities will be discarded in the interest of team cohesion and camaraderie. Code-names will be utilised instead."_

Butch struggled to contain his gasp of excitement. Code-names! Just like when he used to play "Superspy" with his buddies when he was just a tyke! This was so cool! "What will my code-name be, sir?" A thought struck him, and he spoke in a rush, "Do we get to choose our own?!"

_"No."_  He deflated a bit.  _"We will be assigning code-names according to the geography of the United States of America, back on Earth. Yours will be...Florida. Do not reveal to anyone your actual name, or previous rank, or previous service history. Others will be instructed to do likewise. You are here to start anew, understood?"_

Butch-no no, he corrected himself,  _Agent Florida_ -nodded fervently. "Abso-tively, sir! I don't think there's a better place to do it than here, sir! I'll be giving one hundred and ten percent, you can bet your bottom dollar on that!"

The Director seemed slightly distracted.  _"Indeed. The project is very...demanding. Be ready for anything."_  He glanced downward.  _"Your transport will arrive shortly. Please follow the other candidates when you arrive, and we will begin integration immediately. That is all. Over and out."_  The screen winked off.

No longer bored out of his brain, Agent Florida sat back in his seat, hands knotting together and rocking back and forth with glee. His new life was going to be a blast, he could tell!


	3. First Impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! It's Lili-Hunter here, one of the admins for The Freelancer Collaboration, to announce some pretty important stuff! Firstly, if you're following us on FF.net, you'll know that this is a re-post, and we're actually currently about halfway into our sequel fanfic, "Phase Two: Betrayal". As such, we're currently looking for a whole new batch of writers to join us as we document the rise and fall of Project Freelancer! If you're interested, all you need to do is head over to our main forum on FanFiction.Net, titled "The Freelancer Collaboration", under the miscellaneous and then Red vs. Blue categories. After that, we'll need you to fill out an Author Form, and an application for either an OC Freelancer, or Agent Washington. Applications close on January 1st!
> 
> On with the fic!

 

* * *

**Chapter Two – First Impressions**

**Agent Virginia**

**Written by anna1795**

* * *

_"Sometimes one creates a dynamic impression by saying something, and sometimes one creates as significant an impression by remaining silent."_ – Dalai Lama

* * *

 

"Mother of Invention, this is Pelican 343-R, requesting docking clearance."

The dark-haired woman in the back of the Pelican didn't move, hearing the male pilot of the aircraft speaking to the console of the ship. The ship jumped once or twice as it hit a pocket of turbulence. She grabbed onto the safety harness and her knapsack simultaneously, while the metal of the seat and harness jarred her uncomfortably. The other two passengers on the ship did the same, though they were slightly more vocal about their discomfort.

343-R, still waiting for clearance from their destination, turned his head back towards his passengers. "You guys excited to start with the project?"

One of the guys, a tall man with lightly tanned skin and brown hair, smiled back to the impassive silver visor of the woman's helmet. "You bet!" he called up over the roar of the ship's engines. "It'll be good to do something useful!"

"Like we weren't doing stuff before?" His neighbour, a huge man with dark brown hair and an intimidating glare, directed his words at the more enthusiastic of the two. The other man leaned back, as if trying to keep away from the intimidator. The more intimidating of the two gave a short bark of laughter and hit the shorter one on the arm with the back of his hand 'lightly.' "Kidding," he said, and the first one gave a weak little laugh, rubbing the blossoming bruise.

"You're awfully quiet!" the pilot called back to her, and she turned towards the voice. "What about you? Are you excited to be working with us?" She thought about it for a second and shrugged.

"I guess," she replied shortly. "I haven't really thought about it."

Now that she did think about it, she still couldn't make up her mind. Her whole decision about how enjoyable the project would be would have to be based on the people. Each person was a puzzle waiting to be solved, and she enjoyed figuring out puzzles. It helped in her strategy. She surveyed the other people around her, watching their movements and faces.

 _"Roger that, 343-R. Standby for clearance."_  A male voice finally crackled over the radio, and she took a look around to try and figure out about the others around her.

The brunette was quick to read. He was enthusiastic, outgoing, and seemed to be friendly with anyone that he encountered. He was also quick-witted and cunning. She could easily guess that he was a jokester, full of surprises in every form. His posture was relaxed and bouncy, so he would be light on his feet. It might also mean that he was someone who tried to keep the situation as non-serious as possible so that he wouldn't have to suffer a hard loss. She gave a slight hum at the prospect. He turned to her and gave a wide, toothy grin. She responded with the largest smile possible to her, but it achieved little more than a curl of her lips upward.

 _"343-R, you have been cleared for landing. Welcome aboard,"_  the flight controller's voice crackled over the radio. The ship began to drop slightly as they moved towards the ship that none of them could see, but that they all knew was there.

The tall one was a lot harder to read and understand. His face seemed impassive, like you wouldn't be able to tell where he was from. The scars on his muscular arms that were visible from the sleeves of his black t-shirt indicated that he had a military history, at the very least. He held himself tall yet reserved, like he was trying to hide a secret. His dark eyes betrayed nothing, but there was something that she felt, and she felt empathetic. Whatever this man was trying to hide, most of the façade he put forth was covering up years of pain and suffering.

"And…touchdown!" 343-R crowed excitedly as the ship jostled against a hard surface. He turned to the three passengers. "Alright, everyone off my ship! Go on!" he barked, but good naturedly. The gangway popped open, and the safety harnesses released. Spurred on by 343-R's words, the three of them grabbed their bags and raced off the ship, weaving through people to get to a secluded corner so that they could gather their bearings.

"We haven't been properly introduced, have we?" the shorter of the two brunettes asked his two companions, and he held out his hand, then withdrew it hesitantly. "Oh, we're supposed to use our new 'names' now, aren't we?" he chuckled, looking down at the official-looking document in his hand. "I guess I'm 'Agent New York.' God, that's too long," he groaned. "Call me York."

She looked down at the document in her own hand just as the taller of the two men introduced himself as Agent Pennsylvania. The precise, uniform typing listed her name in bright red letters under her real name. "Virginia," she said finally, folding the paper and stowing it away in her pants pocket.

"Those guys look like who we should go with," Pennsylvania pointed towards a group of people in civilian clothes, mulling at the edge of the hangar with their bags and possessions. The three new agents walked over to join them, and a woman with curly brown hair turned around as they approached. She smiled at them slightly, and the others stopped speaking. They opened up their social circle and allowed Virginia, York, and Penn in to join them.

"Hi there," the brown-haired woman greeted them, holding out a hand to Virginia. She took it and exchanged a firm handshake with the other agent. "I'm Massachusetts. You can call me Massa, though."

"Nice to meet you," York gave a dramatic, eloquent bow, and some of the other agents chuckled. "I'm York, that big guy's Pennsylvania, and you're shaking hands with Virginia."

One of the other men, with a thick yet manicured mustache, came forward and held out his hand to York. "Wyoming, at your service," he drawled in a thick British accent. The two men grasped each other's hands firmly, yet gave each other nice-enough smiles. Wyoming took a look at Pennsylvania and backed away to take Virginia's limp hand. "I'm truly honored to be in the presence of a lady," he murmured, bending down to kiss her hand.

Reflex dominated willpower at that moment. Virginia grabbed the hand that was holding hers and pressed her thumb hard into the fleshy part of the hand. Wyoming gave a gasp and almost fell to the ground. Realizing what she was doing, Virginia rapidly let go and backed up, horror running cold through her mind and blood. She couldn't let that sort of thing happen again. If anyone saw, she was bound to be kicked back home for sure.

"Serves you right for trying to pull that stunt," the other new woman, whose blazing red hair shone like a wildfire, stepped forward to greet the new arrivals. "It's about time you showed up," she directed her next comment at them. "We didn't know if you had chickened out at the last minute. I'm Carolina, by the way."

"Which one?" Pennsylvania asked, but a shrug was Carolina's only answer. Virginia recomposed herself with a deep breath and re-joined the group, pulling Wyoming to his feet. She stared at Carolina for a very long moment as Wyoming backed away from her, and her vibrant blue eyes met the redhead's neon green orbs. They faced each other for a moment, sizing the other up.

"Anyways," York interrupted, breaking the staring contest between the two women, "who are your other friends?"

"Right," Massa recovered and pointed to a tale, pale man with short black hair. "This is Alaska. Don't ask where he came from, he won't budge. I have a feeling that you two might get along well together, Virginia." Virginia's attention was drawn to Alaska, who stared back at her with deep blue eyes. A precautionary shiver went up Virginia's neck, but she maintained eye contact for a second and traced the scars that ran across his face.

"I don't think that it will work out so well," Alaska said coolly after a moment, turning to Massa. Virginia nodded in agreement and turned to the final man. He was older than most of them, with faint age lines and dark hair beginning to grey around the edges. He wore a bright smile on his face, though, and she felt that he had the same natural happiness and enthusiasm as York. She seemed instantly drawn to this older person and his unique personality, though it was certainly more…outgoing than her own.

"Call me Florida," he greeted the newcomers, extending a hand that was shaken by the two men. Florida took Virginia's hand gently and stared at her for a long moment, trying to read her as much as she was reading him. "You look about the same age as… well, never mind," he passed the thought with a flippant laugh, and Virginia found herself almost caught up in the infectious happiness.

"Good afternoon, everyone," a deep, calm voice echoed from a doorway, and they turned to face the dark man approaching them. He wore the dark uniform of a frigate administrator, and carried a datapad in one arm. His eyes and smile seemed oddly disconcerting, though, glassy and fake in their kindliness. "I hope everyone has had a pleasant journey and an opportunity to meet each other?"

"Yes, sir," they all answered immediately, standing up straight.

"Welcome to Project Freelancer. You may call me Counselor," the man greeted in a voice like an elementary teacher on their first day of class. "I will be assisting both you and the Director of the Project in ensuring that your needs are met and the system operates smoothly and effectively for all of us. If you will follow me, I will take you on a brief tour of the facilities before we meet the Director for your full briefing and introduction. Are there any questions?"

Pennsylvania motioned. "Is there any specific place where you want us to drop off our bags?"

"We will visit your quarters first so that you may deposit your personal effects," the Counselor replied, turning back the way that he had come. "If you will please follow me." Virginia hoisted her knapsack over her shoulder while the others shouldered backpacks or messenger bags, and they all followed the Counselor in a pack. He led them through a maze of blank hallways further along the ship. Some of them had windows along the side, and some were merely steel and titanium panels, cold and unfeeling. The Counselor talked about the various schematics of the ship, how many personnel were involved onboard the ship, their facilities, and etcetera. Virginia was only paying half a mind to where they were going until they entered a hallway with several doors.

"These will be your personal quarters for the duration of your stay," the Counselor beckoned to the doors. "Your names are temporarily posted on the door of your assigned rooms. Agents New York and Carolina, you have been assigned your own. The rest of you have been divided and paired for the duration of your stay." Virginia looked around the group of them that had arrived and, seeing that all but two were guys, could safely assume that Massachusetts would be her roommate. They all got to their doors, which opened automatically, and tossed their belongings inside without staying to look at where they were sleeping. "Agent Virginia, I apologize that we were not able to set up a bedframe for you at this time," the Counselor apologized to Virginia as she passed him. "We are working on correcting the situation."

"It's fine," she mumbled. "I prefer just a mattress."

The Counselor did not respond, only gathering them up again like a herder with his sheep, and he led them further on into the ship. There were no more windows now as they traversed deeper and deeper, passing by the training room, the gym, the mess hall, and a swimming pool. As the Counselor explained some of the restrictions with the Olympic-sized marvel, Virginia stared at the equipment surrounding the pool, including the high-dive.

The Freelancers were finally shown into a dark room with desks, with two chairs apiece that faced towards a large projector board. The Counselor instructed them to take a seat and be patient, and they all sat at the desks. York and Carolina sat together without even realizing it, and Wyoming moved into the empty seat besides Florida. Alaska sat in the back of the room by himself, while Massachusetts sidled cautiously into the seat beside Pennsylvania towards the front of the room. This left Virginia with a row all to herself, and she sat in the second row from the front, farthest towards the wall so that she had a good viewing point of the entire room.

There came a click of heels on the thin-carpeted floor, and the lights flickered on dimly. They all stood up as a man in a dark grey uniform and glasses came down the wide steps to the front of the room. The light glared off of his glasses, and the silver in his otherwise dark hair gleamed eerily. The hair on the back of Virginia's neck stood up even more so than when she had met Alaska. This man was someone that kept her aware. No matter what, she made a promise to herself never to trust this man. It could prove dangerous.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the man spoke in a thick Southern accent from his position at the front of the room, hands behind his back. He looked almost like a professor lecturing a room full of students. "You may call me 'Director' or 'sir.'" Nobody spoke, so he decided to continue. "You may be seated."

"As most of you know from the personal interviews that were conducted with each and every one of you, you are volunteers for a co-operative private and public project of the UNSC for new methods of training soldiers to be more efficient in combat. More than that, though, you are all the beginning of a new generation of super soldiers, humanity's first defense against threats such as the Covenant and the Insurrectionists."

Virginia noticed Carolina lean forward in her seat eagerly, eating up every single word the Director spoke. She held no such enthusiasm, only caution. She turned to face the Director again as he spoke.

"Most of you are the finest soldiers that the UNSC has ever seen. Some of you have been personally selected for your skills, and they will be beneficial to the future of this Project, as well as the human race. There will be numerous tasks that you will undergo to prove your worth to Project: Freelancer. There is the possibility that you may live long enough to retire. There is also the very real possibility that you will die in service to humanity." The Director paused, letting the severity of his words sink in to the new recruits. Virginia accepted them as a reality. It was true: her service to the UNSC came with the ever-real possibility that she would return home in a casket or smaller decorated box rather than in uniform and into the waiting arms of her family.

"This risk is no excuse for poor performance in the Project, and I hope never to remind you of that," the Director continued sternly. "You will all try your best with everything that you do here, or it will reflect poorly on you all. The first chance to prove yourselves is tomorrow. Schedules have been uploaded into the computers in your quarters. You are all dismissed."

"Yes sir!" Seven voices rang out through the classroom, and they stood and filed out the door towards the scent of dinner wafting down the halls. The mess hall was open, and a small line of ship staff extended from a buffet counter that had delicious fumes spreading throughout the air.

The chatter that had been going on between the personnel in line or already seated immediately ceased as the Freelancers entered, and all eyes turned towards them. Virginia felt very exposed with all those eyes on her, and she wasn't the only one being made uncomfortable by the pervasive silence. Penn twitched behind her, and Alaska had become suddenly tense. The air around the Freelancers had grown suddenly colder.

"Hey, what's up?" York asked cheerfully, though his last few words kinds of trailed off at the end. He gave a sort of half-wave, and everyone else resumed their chatter and eating, unconcerned with the new Freelancers.

"Thanks for the diversion," Massa thanked the brunette, who gave a bashful smile and scratched his head, muttering about it not being a problem. They all lined up at the counter, and Virginia eyed the food. Grabbing a tray, she began piling heaps of rice, chicken, mixed vegetables, pasta, beef, and fruit onto her plate. Everyone eyed her pile of food, then looked at Virginia, then back at the food.

"Are you starving?!" Massa asked incredulously as Virginia topped off her heap of food with a few dinner rolls and grabbed a glass of water.

"Where I came from, you learn to take as much food as you can, because you never know when you'll eat next," Virginia answered, grabbing the tray and following Florida and Penn towards an empty table. She gave a lurch as something blocked her foot, and she staggered forward, and the tray went flying.

Shedding her calm demeanor with a yelp, Virginia leapt forward and grabbed the tray, maneuvering it so that she could grab the plate and the food she had loaded onto it. Not a single grain of rice spilled onto the floor as she caught all of the flying food on the tray. She maneuvered the food onto her right forearm, twisted around, and grabbed the glass of water and the liquid that had threatened to spill out of it. There came a few gasps at the acrobatic display, and several people applauded her skill. Blushing, Virginia hustled over to the Freelancers' table and sat down on the end of the bench, making sure not to brush against Alaska.

"Where'd you learn that?" York whistled as Virginia grabbed her utensils and started shoveling food into her mouth.

"Around," she muttered around a mouthful of pasta and meat, and he gave a shrug and returned to his own food.

"Don't be a show-off," someone muttered, and Virginia looked up.

"Excuse me?" Virginia directed her innocent question at Carolina, who set down her glass of juice.

"You heard me," Carolina snapped. "We're not here to show the rest of the crew that we're the best. We're here to train and prove ourselves to the Project. Fancy acrobatics are not going to win you any credit here."

"Begging your pardon, miss," Virginia couldn't help the sarcastic tone from creeping into her tone. "I'll be sure to check my arrogance at the door the next time I wander into your presence." Her neck hairs prickled at Carolina's assumption. She was NOT a show-off; she wanted to draw as little attention to herself as possible.

"Easy, there," Florida consoled the two bristling women as they gave each other hard looks. "I'm sure that Virginia wasn't being a show-off. I think that she did a good job there getting all of her food back on her plate again." There came a few anonymous rumbles of agreement from around the table.

"Thanks, Florida. Carolina's right, though," Virginia muttered. "I'm just a little paranoid about my food and people trying to take it away. I'm not trying to show off; it's just what I've been taught to do."

"Fine," Carolina growled, resuming her eating. The other Freelancers followed suit, inhaling the food that had been denied to them since their pick-up from their various locations. A couple of guys from engineering stood up and walked past their table, and one of them brushed purposefully into Alaska's broad back. With a growl, he leapt up and towered over the man that had knocked into him.

"You got a problem, punk?" the large, pale man growled threateningly at the helmeted man, who seemed to shrink about a foot in his overlarge boots. He gave a shake of his head, and Alaska snarled. "Then beat it." The guy from engineering gave a squeak and dashed out of the hall. Giving a small smirk, Alaska sat back down. Virginia scooted a little further away from him.

As soon as they were all done eating and just about to start chatting with each other about the next day's events, the doors to the mess hall opened up to admit both the Counselor and the Director. Every soldier, Freelancer, and various personnel stood up at the presence of their superiors. With a wave of the hand, everyone but the Freelancers was seated again and resumed their meal.

"All Freelancers are to follow us for armor fitting and augmentation," the Director said smoothly, but in a tone that demanded his order be followed immediately. With a scraping of chairs and wiping of faces, they all stood up and grouped around the Director, waiting for instruction. "Well? You are acting like sheep, and I, I'm sorry to inform you, am not your shepherd," he commented snidely, his upper lip curled dismissively.

"If you will please follow me," the Counselor interjected, and he started walking towards the door with the others trailing in a line behind him. Virginia followed more towards the back, just in front of Penn and Alaska. She took a deep breath, trying to swallow the doubt rising in her throat. A firm hand started pushing her forward, attempting to move her faster. She stumbled slightly from the force in Pennsylvania's hand, steeled herself, and marched onward towards her new life.


	4. In Armour Clad

 

**Chapter Three – In Armour Clad**

**Agent Wyoming**

****Written by Ausphin** **

* * *

" _Conceit is the finest armour a man can wear."_ \- Jerome K. Jerome

* * *

"Here we are," the so-called "Counselor" intoned, turning to face the Freelancers as the group followed the duo into the room. Immediately, Wyoming's attention slipped to the sets of armour, gleaming metal suits looking like nothing he had ever seen before. Certainly nothing like what the regular UNSC had access to. He noted that the majority of the group was also staring at them in varying degrees of awe.

After a moment, the Counselor cleared his throat, pulling the attention back to him. "As I'm sure you can see, we have the top-of-the-line in technology for Project Freelancer," he preened, clearly finding some level pride in the finance provided to his work. "Beside each suit is a datapad with the state name of the agent it's assigned to and instructions on its functions. Please find your armour now."

With that said, the Counselor stepped aside. After a short tentative pause to be sure they were really allowing it, the group went to the suits with Alaska and York eagerly hurrying at the head, Virginia and Pennsylvania tailing. York began calling out the names as he passed each, directing them to their armour until he reached his own, the one on the far right which was apparently a standard Mark VI tan suit. Alaska stood before a set of adapted red ODST armour marked with black trim. Carolina headed for a set of sky-blueish-greeny-turquoise armour, Virginia went to a bright green-and-orange Mark VI. Massachusetts and Pennsylvania admired a pale green Mark VI suit and a dark blue respectively. As Florida oohed and chuckled at his own 'Marvellous!' ODST suit, Wyoming eyed his off-white armour.

Not exactly the most amazing of the set, but it'll do, he decided after an examination. Picking up the datapad, he gave it a tap and the name gave way to a video, diagramming the suit and its various parts and functions. A wide majority of it seemed for show, as it was a bit doubtful that many of the agents cared about the finer features like the airproof seal, enhanced 'heads-up display', or even the helmet floodlights. It displayed various videos for a few more minutes, showing the suit in action, how it increased speed, strength, and much more.

The video ended with a picture of a team of soldiers suited up and charging into battle, fading to black. Wyoming looked up, seeing most of the others with their eyes still on the pads save for Carolina, Virginia, and York. He rolled his eyes as he noticed Florida opting to watch it again.

When he was sure that everyone had finished watching it at least once, the Counselor spoke up again. "Now that you have learned the basics of your armour, we may move on. You may further familiarize yourself with the equipment later on when the suit has been delivered to your rooms. I would like to remind you that these suits are not toys, and should be treated with respect. We believe that they are safe for use, but there have been examples of suits, similar to these, causing severe injuries to their wearers when not properly maintained and misused."

From further down the line, York muttered, "Maybe that's why there's only eight of us."

The Counselor transfixed him with a steely gaze. "Did you say something, Agent New York?" which was met with a mild flush and a "Nothing, sir!"

"Just as I thought," he replied smugly. "Now, the next area we are headed to is the weapons' armoury. Naturally, as a military branch, weapons are going to be a common part of the missions and you must be familiar with the tools you use."

As he said this, he stood by a doorway leading into the adjacent room, awaiting the agents. Carolina typically led the way, motioning for us to follow her. As they entered, Wyoming realised that this was a smaller room with four long tables in the middle. Each had a wide assortment of guns from pistols to submachine guns, battle rifles to sniper rifles, rocket launchers and a few missile pods lying against the sides of the room. All in all, it was a veritable candy shop of guns all gleaming, polished and ready for action.

"As I'm aware that most of you have a history in the military, I doubt I need to explain every individual weapon here. Instead, all of you take a few moments to familiarize yourself with them, deciding which you'd prefer for missions." The Counselor murmured, gesturing towards the weapons.

This time, the hesitation was much shorter as most of the group bustled over, eager to sort through the weapons. Many of them gave the magnums and knives appraising glances, trying to decide which weapon would be their favourite or which might save their lives in a tough situation. York gripped a shotgun approvingly while Carolina swirled a pistol around one finger. Alaska grinned at the wickedly-gleaming knives, giving one an expert flip before catching it and setting it back down with a nod, moving over to look at the selection of DMRs.

Wyoming walked around the table a while, taking in the various weapons, before grabbing the traditional sniper rifle he'd gotten used to. Lining up with the sight, he happily realized these came upgraded with heat and night vision and gave a small chuckle of appreciation. Florida gripped a tomahawk, murmuring how "Nifty!" it was, before setting it down on the table, his eyes caught by some adapted assault rifles. Some of the others stuck with the rudimentary pistol, or an assault or battle rifle.

After several minutes of this, the Counselor stepped forward. "I trust all of you have made choices about your weapon preference? Regardless, we're running out of time so you all must relinquish them back to where they were."

Anticipating the few groans of protest, he continued. "I must insist. The weapons are not to leave this room. And now, if you'll follow me, I'll show you to your rooms. You can spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing and getting acquainted with your roommate if you have one, or your armour. From this moment on, your induction has passed. Tomorrow, we begin for real. Welcome to Project Freelancer."

With that, he led the pack out.


	5. Hit and Miss

**Chapter Four – Hit and Miss**

**Agent New York**

**Written by Maple Alycia Hood**

* * *

" _I like keeping my life open, and seeing what happens. It's more fun that way."_  – Camilla Belle.

* * *

_"What's up guys, this is your hosts Jack and Geoff for tonight's Grifball Tournament Final stationed in sunny Austin, Texas, where we're getting ready for the biggest playoff since this game began. It's Team Majestic against Team Castle. I am so excited for this game, Geoff!"_

_"I know, man! This is gonna be amazing. There has been so much heat up to this point, it's hotter than the weather outside! Both teams have huge numbers of winning streaks under their belts, so it's all down to this very match."_

Just because New York - by this point, since that was his new codename – was on board some kind of spaceship in the middle of nowhere, it didn't mean that he couldn't take the time to crash in the newly crowned recreation room and set up the nearby TV onto his favourite channel just in time for what was probably going to be the biggest Grifball match of the century. Majestic and Castle were his two favourite teams! Well, if he had to be brutally honest, he liked Majestic a little more. Right now, though, he was far more interested to see who would win, and what kind of carnage would be created during the game.

He sat at the very edge of the couch, arms resting across his lap, watching the picture in front of him with an intent expression as the two teams – Castle was red, Majestic was blue – gathered on the field, and the Grifball appeared in the center of the room. The commentators seemed excited, but nowhere near as excited as the brown haired man was. He'd even put his Grifball t-shirt on, along with a pair of black loose trousers and white sneakers. He was prepared for this. He was prepared for whatever the game threw at him.

_"And here we have it! The start of the final game of this year's Grifball season!"_

Someone was at the door, but… _York_ , paid little attention. He was too engrossed in the starting game. Majestic's defence were already taking out that of Castle, but Castle's ball catcher had charged forward, grabbing the bomb and thus turning his armour the familiar orange that belonged to the namesake of the game. Damn, if only he knew where the guy was. He'd love to meet him sometime. Still, at this rate that was highly unlikely. York was in the middle of a secretive project, where it was highly unlikely that he'd get to go home again anytime soon. If the dude was even on Earth.

Things were getting hot in this game already. Defence members were slamming into each other, then were temporarily locked down, red or blue armoured players either falling straight to the ground or flying right away from the main source of action. The Grifball was constantly moving between players, so it was getting pretty hard to keep up with the game, but York just about managed. And if he couldn't, the commentators were giving the lowdown on which member had the ball, which member had made an awesome attack, and which member – or members – were so out for the count that they were on the other side of the court. This was probably the last bit of televised chaos that he'd get to watch in a good while.

_"Oooh!"_  He couldn't help himself as one of the hammers of Majestic's defence slammed into the back of the Castle ball catcher and sent him straight down to the ground. The blue ball catcher rolled up the bomb and sprinted off towards the other goal, with red defence players hot on his heels. Swords came out this time, lashing out at anybody that even came close, as both teams tried desperately to hang onto the Grifball and score some points.

If only he had someone on this ship that had the same amount of passion for the game as he did. At this rate, York would be the only Freelancer who even liked the sport. He was pretty sure half of his teammates didn't actually know what it was, but he wouldn't bother them too much about it. If it came down to him being the only fan, that would be fine. Still, a couple of guys coming in to make a little noise when the goals came through would make this project entertaining, because so far all anyone ever talked about was fighting.

The Director most likely meant well, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the man was a little too strict. Sure, this was a secretive project, and they all had codenames and had practically had to leave their old lives behind. That didn't mean they couldn't at least try to be friends, right? They had to like each other to be able to work with each other, after all. He'd hate to be in a team full of people that were against each other. It wouldn't go down well at all. They could get themselves killed!

Freelancer. Project Freelancer. Freelancers were mercenaries. They weren't supposed to work in teams.

"So how exactly does this work?"

York nearly jumped out of his seat at the sound of the voice. He glanced to the door to see the familiar redhead leaning against the frame, arms folded, a bemused smile on her face. Oddly enough, that was the very question he'd been asking himself in his head, but she was most likely talking about the game. He did his best charming grin in response, but she didn't seem too interested. Hard to get, huh? Well, he could at least try his luck. Her state name was Carolina, if he remembered correctly. He had to admit, he sure liked Carolina.

"Basically, there's the Grifball in the center, both teams try to get it to the opposite goal, first team to do that ten times is the winner." He explained as he looked back to make sure he hadn't missed anything. This final was important, after all. "Things are made interesting with the hammers and the swords, but obviously they're not lethal."

Majestic's ball catcher pushed the Castle goalkeeper out of the way, jumping up and slamming the bomb into the goal, but he was quick to move away from the Grifball as it exploded and sent everyone flying backwards, only to land in catlike poses. They'd had plenty of practice when it came to exploding bombs, it seemed.

"Oh, and the bomb explodes when it reaches the goal." York added as an afterthought.

"You don't say." Carolina replied in an offhanded voice. The brown haired man looked to her again, deciding to play a little more dangerously. He knew this woman was quite capable of kicking his ass whenever and wherever she felt like it, but she was a beautiful lady. It couldn't hurt to try, right? A small comment wouldn't warrant an ass kicking, surely?

"Hey, uh... why don't you stick around for a bit? Maybe watch some of the game with me?" He offered, leaning back and resting one leg over the other, extending one of his arms to lie over the top of the sofa. The other Freelancer's smirk widened slightly and she looked away.

"Actually, I have better things to do." She answered, turning her back and beginning to walk out of the room, but it seemed like she wasn't done talking yet. "Like getting some work done around here, unlike some people."

Ouch. That was one fiery woman. Spirited woman always had something about them that he loved perhaps a little too much. Okay, so that hadn't gone down too well. York wouldn't let that dishearten him, though. Nothing would dampen his content mood right now. There were plenty of other times to see if Carolina held any sort of feelings for, well, anyone. But yes, he did find himself liking the bright red haired woman, even if she had rejected him at the moment. He liked her even more than-

_"Oh, and that's an amazing score by Castle!"_

"WHAT?!"

Well, okay, maybe he liked Carolina and Grifball in equal amounts.


	6. Status Report

 

**Chapter Five – Status Report**

**Killian Jay – Private First Class, Medic**

**Written by Casaric**

* * *

_"I was always shocked when I went to the doctor's office and they did my X-ray and they didn't find that I had eight more ribs that I should have or that my blood was the colour green."_  – Nicolas Cage

* * *

When you see a short man wearing multi-coloured armour staring at a door at muttering to himself, you would probably describe that occurrence as 'odd'. This, in fact, happens much more often than one would think. Once a week in-fact. Every Tuesday, on 3:45 on the dot, Killian Jay, Private First Class, Medic, is tasked with delivering the Director of Project Freelancer the weekly report on the freelancers' well-being. More often than not, he spent the last five minutes practicing his lines before heading in.

"Well, that was the report, sir...thank you, I know I'm the best, sir...No, no, I really don't need a promotion sir...Well, if you insist, sir..." The medic mumbled happily, staring off at nothing, lost in a self-induced trance.

* _Ssssthump_ *

Out of the Director's office walked another medic, who was responsible for delivering the daily causality report, and heaved a sigh of relief as the door closed behind him, walking past Killian as if he wasn't even there. When he was about half-way down the hall, the newcomer turned around and shouted at the top of his lungs:

 **"Killian, what have you done?! You just killed a patient! How could you?!"**  And then turned around and continued to walk as if nothing had happened.

The effect was immediate. Killian locked up, stopped breathing...and nearly threw-up in his helmet, ripping it from his body before he drowned in his own bile, deciding that the floor was a much better option.

 _'That's what janitors get paid for anyway, right?'_  He thought, steadying himself against a wall.

After allowing himself a moment to regain his composure and to re-attach his helmet, he took a deep breath, and walked into the Director's office.

When Killian entered the room, he wasn't surprised to find the Counselor there by the Director's side.

"We cannot wait any longer Counselor. They're soldiers, grown men and women. Not children in an elementary school."

"...But, sir...this evaluation...you don't think it could-"

"Ah, it appears that we have company," the Director interrupted, noticing Killian enter the room. "Well, what it is it?"

The medic snapped to attention. "I'm here to deliver the weekly medical report on the freelancers you selected, sir."

"...At ease."

Killian adjusted his stance accordingly.

"You may report, soldier." The Director continued.

Killian nodded, pulling out a data-pad from the storage unit strapped to his thigh, and began reading. "We have held the medical examinations, as per your request. The results of which are as follows. The general health of your agents is fine. Older injuries outnumber newer ones, and for the most part should not affect the performance of your agents. I would also like to take the time to mention that some of your more...unbalanced agents have been having reoccurring flashbacks and lucid nightmares as of late. While this has nothing to do with their physical health, I felt it was my responsibility to make it known to you. On another note, we have finally received the equipment we request a few months back, now we don't need to worry about fixing those old Bio-Foam injectors. Well, one less thing to repair, right? Sincerely, Head of Medical Operations, James L." Killian finished, glancing up from the data-pad. The Director seemed to be thinking about something, but he couldn't tell what.

"Do you have the full report?" The Counselor asked, apparently suddenly interested in the goings-on of the medical world.

"Yeah here, let me pull it up..." Killian replied, sliding his fingers across the data pad, then bringing them around in a circle, before handing it to the Counselor.

"Thank you, that will be all private, you are dismissed."

As Killian turned to leave, he could swear he could feel the Director's eyes burning holes into the back of his helmet.

* * *

**The Director**

**Written by NicKenny**

* * *

" _History does not long entrust the care of freedom to the weak or the timid." – Dwight D. Eisenhower_

* * *

I turned back to the Counselor as the medic left the room, my patience completely used up by this point, but that does not prevent him from continuing his tragically flawed argument.

"Sir, I just do not believe that the men are ready for what you have planned. They just haven't had the time necessary to bond as a unit. The way you're planning to push them, the methods of training…It's going to split them apart!"

I wearily raised a hand, preventing him from coming out with another stream of this drivel. "Counselor, do you not think that I've factored in all the doubts that you have mentioned? You studied my papers, yet believe that you can  _lecture_ me on my methods? The training is  _designed_ to pull them apart! What is important is ensuring that they all pull back together."

The Counselor stared at me, evidently still not entirely convinced by my reasoning. I sighed, running my hands through my hair. "Very well then," I muttered, displeased by his reactions. "Tomorrow I will organise a training exercise, to show you the abilities of our agents. If any of them fail,  _then_  we can talk about slowing down the project."

He paused, considering my proposal. "We do have a training exercise planned for tomorrow. Are you suggesting we make it more…engaging?"

I waved a hand dismissively, sighing slightly. "If it will ease your fears. Quite frankly, it is about time we put them through their paces. They've had their chance to get settled; now it is time for them to prove themselves."

The Counselor pulled out his data-pad, quickly shuffling through various windows until he discovered what he's looking for. "We were originally planning some rudimentary target practice, giving the agents time to familiarise themselves with the various weapons we have on board. Obviously that exercise isn't quite…exerting enough for the evaluation we have in mind…"

He trailed off, lost in thought and I glanced over at him, murmuring: "We have a number of security personnel in reserve aboard the ship, do we not? Perhaps we could utilise them in this exercise? Live opponents are  _always_  going to be more challenging than painted targets and turrets, Counselor."

He smiled, plans for this  _challenge_ running through his mind. "A fine idea, Director. I will get to work on it at once." With that he inclined his head towards me and leaves me, the doors _swooshing_ behind him, just as they had done when the medic had left the room only a minute or two before.

"F.I.L.S.S. could you please bring up the status report on the Sim Trooper bases?" I asked, smiling slightly as a female voice quickly responds.

"Certainly, Director. As of this moment, forty Simulation Trooper bases have been fully constructed and garrisoned, with ten more currently under construction."

My smile widened, and I quickly flicked through my own data-pad, bringing up the various reports that F.I.L.S.S. had just summarised.  _Everything is going according to schedule._ Various images appeared on the screen, headed with the dreadful names that seemed to follow any military project: Sidewinder, Blood Gulch, Rat's Nest, Valhalla, Zanzibar and many others, the name of each being even more ridiculous than the last.

Red and blue armoured soldiers were present in the majority of the pictures, all rejects from the UNSC, low-level operatives assigned to the project due to low test scores and poor field skills. The UNSC had been slightly puzzled when I had requested these soldiers, but eventually granted me the use of about four hundred of the most-incompetent of the soldiers amongst the UNSC.

After all, who really cares about a bunch of inept soldiers when the fate of humanity is at stake?

But they would come along later. At the moment, the Counselor doesn't believe the agents are ready to send into a simulation mission. No doubt he would rather that we organise some sort of Boy Scout outing, allowing them to "bond" as a team.

Well I will leave him to his doubt. I believe in my agents, and I know that they are up to whatever challenges I set for them. But the Counselor isn't entirely wrong. They still have a lot to learn if they intend on earning the title "Freelancer". Some more than others…

I sit down, facing a large blank screen. "F.I.L.S.S., would you be so kind as to run that video once more for me?" I ask, settling into my seat.

"Of course, Director," she replies in a smooth, almost motherly fashion. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

I shake my head, her words barely registering in my mind. "No, F.I.L.S.S. That will be all for now."

With the AI dismissed, I clasp my hands together as the screen blinks into life, and I stare into Allison's eyes once more…


	7. First Sign of Madness

 

**Chapter Six – First Sign of Madness**

**Agent Alaska**

**Written by Avalanche Wolf**

* * *

" _We work in the dark - we do what we can - we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art." –_ Henry James

* * *

The smooth floor felt cool against his cheek. Alaska's eyes fluttered as he muttered to himself. "Ah yes. I see. Everything is so clear to me now." His hand gently stroked the floor as he spoke. He felt something hit the floor.  _Feet._  Someone standing just shy of 6 feet landed near him.  _His roommate, Florida._  Alaska heard his cheery voice, but tinged with a slightly worried tone.

"Um...are you okay?"

Alaska shushed his roommate softly and continued his mutterings. "Oh yes, I see. That is very interesting. You don't say? Oh my, he should be more careful. An engineer could get in very big trouble for something like that." He felt that Florida took exactly seven and a half steps down the room to grab his armour and equipment and leave the room.

Alaska sat up and looked at the door. A soft woman's voice spoke to him. "I think you scared him off." Alaska looked up and saw a woman with long auburn hair and silver eyes. She wore a tight fitting grey suit.

Alaska shrugged slightly. "The weak minded are always terrified of the brilliant. But let us not dwell on insignificant events, Moi. Tell me more about yourself."

The woman knelt down. "My skin is some of the toughest material known from Earth. I would tell you more about my engines, but I'm afraid they are still considered classified information."

He pouted. "Aw Moi, why must we keep playing like this? You know I know that you know I will find out eventually. Why not just tell me?"

"A woman's prerogative." She stood up and walked towards the door. "You know you will see me around the ship."

A smile crossed his face. "Of course. I look forward to it, sweet Moi. I do hope we can continue this conversation later." He stood up and watched her walk through the door. He sighed and walked to his locker. "Parting is such bittersweet sorrow." He pulled out his armour. Blood red with black as its trim. This was his new uniform. He put it on, making sure that everything was properly secured and appeared right. "Yes. I believe that I could get used to this."

Alaska grabbed his helmet and walked out of the room. He looked around at the walls as he walked. "Why yes Moi. I do think you look very lovely today." He noticed that a couple of the crew looked at him with odd looks. As he approached the mess hall, he stopped near the door, listening to the other members talk.

"I'm telling you, the guy gives me the creeps." Alaska knew this voice. Gruff, slight intelligence in the voice. Agent...York. Creepy? Alaska was called many things. Psychotic, paranoid, manic, insane. Sure, maybe he was all these, but creepy? That was new to him. Another voice spoke. This one was a woman. Feminine, yet a strength in her voice. A strong determination. Carolina. That's the one. He listened as she spoke. "I'm sure that he's not all that creepy."

"When a guy is lying face down on the deck and talking to the ship, that has to come up on somebody's radar. I just hope this guy isn't some major freak."

Freak! He forgot that one. How many times has Alaska been called freak? He lost count. He walked in and noticed that at his first step, all conversation stopped. He walked to the food servers and grabbed a tray. "A large leg of mutton and a flagon of meade."

The servers looked at him with a shocked looked. "Um, we don't have any of those."

Alaska sighed. "My, what is this world coming to? Very well. I will take what you have." Once the food was on his plate, he took the food and walked back to sit with the other members of the program.

Alaska looked around at the others and smiled. "Hello my companions and compatriots. I do hope that all of you are well and happy." He looked down at the food and knew exactly how it was. All UNSC food was the same. They looked like what they were supposed to, but they lacked the taste. The only thing that tasted right was the drink. He heard another voice. Soft. Caring. Almost...motherly. Massachusetts. "Mutton and meade?" Alaska took a drink of his juice and spoke once he set down his glass.

"In the ancient times, warriors in the Norwegian area would feast on mutton and meade. It was considered the food and drink of champions and heroes. It seemed appropriate." He paused and took another sip from his drink. "You all may think I am insane or...creepy, but I am very much intelligent, and I know things about all of you." He looked at each member and said something he knew was true, starting with Massachusetts.

"You took exactly thirteen and an eighth steps to leave your room. It only took you eight and a half to leave, but you moved to look at something before you left." He moved to Pennsylvania. "You left your water running for four minutes and twenty seven seconds before using it. Waste not, want not." He then turned to Virginia. "You woke up exactly three minutes later than you wanted to. Restless sleep? A nightmare? You tend to toss and turn before you awaken."

The Counselor walked in and everyone turned to him. He spoke as he looked out at the Freelancers. "Good morning. I trust you all slept well. Today will be the first of many challenges you will face. Please report to the training room for a full briefing." With that said, the Counselor left the mess hall. Alaska stood up and took his tray in hand. "I will see you all soon." He got rid of his tray and walked out down the halls of the ship. "This seems to be a unique opportunity."

"How so?" Moi appeared next to him, walking the same pace as him. Alaska smiled and kept walking. "A trade for a trade, Moi. Are you ready to tell me more about your engines?"

"You know I can't do that."

"Always with your games, Moi. Very well. It is like the ancient times. Brothers against brothers. Sisters against brothers. Brothers against second cousins. It is a competition our dear Director is setting out for us."

"Very ambitious."

"Not ambitious.  _Brilliant_. It is almost like he wants so much internal strife that soon we will be ready to tear each other apart. It's delicious." Moi stopped walking and stood still. "Arrogance is most often followed by failure." Alaska turned to look at her. "Moi, you have such little faith in me?" Moi lowered her head, looking at the floor. "I just...I don't want to see you rise so high, just to fall farther than anything anyone has known." With that, she turned and walked through a wall.

Alaska stared for a while longer before turning and continuing his walk to the training room. As he walked into the room, the Director was finishing his talk to the others. He looked at Alaska. "Agent Alaska, I will not tolerate lateness on my ship."

Alaska smiled and shrugged. "Dear Director, I am never late. I arrive exactly when I mean to."

The Director kept his stare. "As long as you serve on this team, you will arrive when you are told."

Alaska gave a bow. "As the Master commands." He walked over and sat on a bench while the Director explained what exactly this training exercise involved.

"This will be the first of many tests and training. In this training room, there are eight security personnel patrolling. Your objective is to eliminate the threat of the security. Pillars will be up to provide cover and concealment. You are to eliminate the threat as quickly and as efficiently as possible. Are there any questions?"

Alaska saw Pennsylvania raise his hand. "What are the guards equipped with?"

This time, it was the Counselor's turn to speak. "They are standardly equipped. Pistols, grenades, automatic rifles."

Pennsylvania coughed a bit. "A bit more than standard."

Virginia spoke next. "Are we able to take any weapons and equipment with us?"

Before the Counselor answered, the Director spoke. "There are weapons waiting for you on the training room floor, similar to the weapons you saw yesterday in the armoury, but for one fact: they're loaded with paint that will send your suit into lockdown if you are hit. I hope I'm correct in assuming none you will have to experience this for yourselves?"

He looked around the room, into the impassive visors of the assembled Freelancers. Silence filled the room for a moment, until the Director appeared to grudgingly accept that his point had been made. "Good! Ingenuity, originality and resourcefulness will be heavily rewarded in this test. Is there anything else?" When no one spoke up, he continued. "Very well. Let us begin."


	8. Watch Your Back

 

**Chapter Seven – Watch Your Back**

**Agent Massachusetts**

**Written by Ayane458**

* * *

" _The first round of Freelancers shows great promise. Superior to the average soldier indeed, but a long way from our goal of a team capable of saving humanity." –_  Director Leonard Church, extract from personal journal, recorded late on the second day.

* * *

Everything seemed to happen fast in Freelancer, Massa reflected.

It might have been simply because it was the second day and the first full one –so many things had to be sorted out. The 'recruits' (seriously, it felt so strange to be called a recruit again, especially after all she had done to ditch the title) had to be given an idea of how things would work here. Didn't change the fact that they'd had no time to really settle nor a lot of time to sleep before being hustled into this challenge.

Right now, a man who'd been assigned the name 'Wyoming' was starting the training off.

Eight white-armoured men were scoping out the training floor, complete with blocks that provided cover and hiding places, in pairs. Wyoming had situated himself a bit to the right of all of them, preventing himself from getting caught in the centre and presumably using the motion trackers their armour came with to avoid being seen.

Time  _mattered_  here. That was made clear in the rules. That guy had better hurry up or else he'd be getting… whatever the slower ones got as a punishment.

Massa shifted slightly, all of a sudden feeling a little uncomfortable. She was leaning against the window of the observation booth to get a better look at the fight. A blue-armoured man, Florida, stood to her right, and her new roommate, Virginia, to her left.

Virginia seemed intent on the match, so focused that Massa would've felt guilty distracting her. Florida was… not quite as attentive and occasionally bobbed his head as if he had some upbeat music playing in there.

It felt like there should be joking, maybe some betting on how the guy with the weird accent would go, at least some talk about how someone or other could do this ten times better or a million times faster. They'd broken a little ice last night, right?

She decided that people were still testing the waters, unsure of each other. No one ever wanted to break the silence. The ice would melt soon enough and then there'd be as much chatter as in her old company.

A strangled cry from the training room drew her attention, and she saw one of the other guys – what was his name? Alaska, that's it –move a little closer to the window to get a better view.

Wyoming had made his move.

One pair of the troopers had been left pinned to each other through the paint on their helmets, unable to move as the goo activated their armour lock. The shots had been fired from the guy's sniper rifle almost simultaneously. While she may not have been paying as much attention as she could have been, Massa was still impressed that she didn't know which soldier he'd aimed at first.

The other six rushed to their fallen comrades. Bad move. Wyoming was already moving around far behind them, dashing between the blocks quickly and making sure he only moved when they weren't looking.

Now the six were lined up in a neat little row. They seemed to realise their positioning was not wise, and tried to move…

…but three shots were fired before any of them could take more than a step.

Three shots, and three more went down in near-sync.

"Wow, he is good," Florida said cheerfully from next to her. His voice made most of the people in the room jump. He looked around at the visors now staring at him and you could  _tell_ he was grinning from ear to ear under that helmet. "What d'you say? Special forces?"

"We aren't supposed to know," a woman named Carolina replied firmly. Massa had decided Carolina was going to at least  _try_  to be the leader here. It just seemed to be ingrained in her personality.

"Just a guess," Florida shrugged, his cheeriness never abating.

"Looks like a pretty good guess," Massa decided as she watched the final three go down.

One had tried desperately to run to the nearest cover, tripping over a fallen soldier on the way and was shot in the head before he could hit the ground.

The last two Wyoming toyed with. Purposely allowing himself to be seen in one area, only to sneak halfway across the room to be seen again, before playing the same trick. He was showing off his speed and stealth. The two soldiers were yelling and firing wildly until he finally put them out of their misery and ended the match with two quick shots.

Eight soldiers, eight shots fired, eight hits to the head. The match had lasted six minutes but Massa got the impression he could've halved that time had he felt the need.

"Round over," FILSS declared. Massa found FILSS fascinating, if only because she was the first AI she had ever seen. Or heard. Didn't AIs usually have holographic avatars? Maybe that was only on the bridge…

"Agent Wyoming's score recorded. Agent Florida, report for round two," FILSS continued.

"Wish me luck," Florida chirped, exiting the observation booth with a jaunty skip in his step.

"Good luck," Massa and York called after him. One or two others murmured something to that effect.

"He was certainly… cheerful," York noted. Massa decided she would probably be able to get along with him in the long term.

"Let's see if he's any good," Carolina said, taking Florida's place beside Massa to get a better view of the training floor. They were still lifting out the eight guys who Wyoming had faced –seemed to be having problems with the two stuck together.

"How do you think he'll do?" Massa asked, directing the question at Pennsylvania. He had been silent so far and she wasn't sure if it was from shyness or reserve (likely the latter, considering the circumstances) but it couldn't hurt to try and draw him out of his shell a little.

"I think he'll do alright. He may act a little… strange for a soldier, but he must be skilled to be here," Pennsylvania replied with a tone of finality, ending the conversation.

Wyoming entered the room looking distinctly pleased with himself.

"What do you think, chaps?" he asked them all.

Before any of them could answer, FILSS declared the start of the round. His question was forgotten in favour of watching how Florida would complete the task.

His style was largely like Wyoming's in the sense that he preferred stealth and taking them out one by one instead of going for larger targets. Unlike Wyoming, he wasn't very showy and used an assault rifle with an under slung  _grenade launcher_. Massa was not aware that they had paint grenades, but presumed they did because otherwise the attachment seemed pointless.

Once again, the eight soldiers spread out in pairs and Florida elected to track them one team at a time. He was patient, and positioned himself so that none of the other soldiers would have a clear shot when he popped out of cover and attacked the team closest to him.

Which he did, spraying the two with paint and freezing them in place. He paused for a second by the bodies, half-hidden by one of the blocks, before one pair began to cautiously make their way towards the other two. He quickly slipped away, dodging behind the other team that came to inspect their two downed comrades.

As the two approached, a grenade burst and splattered them both in paint.

Florida had primed and placed a grenade right next to one of those guys. It had been a trap.

The big guy that stood towards the back, Pennsylvania, now seemed to be paying much closer attention.

"Guess he's not as out of it as he acts," York commented.

Four down, four to go.

He took out two in the same stealthy way he had done it to the first couple, easily avoiding the scattered fire that headed his way upon revealing his location.

The last team he simply walked up behind and took them down with a burst of fire.

It seemed the man had simple tastes, preferring the practical to the flashy. The trick with the grenade was the most exceptional moment throughout the session.

"Round over," FILSS announced.

It had taken five minutes.

"He didn't take as long as you," York said to Wyoming.

"He also didn't show off as much," Massa added jokingly. "Not sure if the latter is a good thing or a bad thing, though."

"He did say he was looking for flair," Wyoming agreed. He seemed agitated –maybe the guy couldn't take much ribbing.

"Agent Florida's score recorded," FILSS chirped. "Agent Alaska, please report for round three."

The red-armoured man headed out the door with no comments to the others, passing a cheery Florida as he went.

"That wasn't too hard," Florida said to them all, and then addressed Alaska, "Good luck!"

Alaska nodded once and then walked past him, down the hall.

Florida seemed undeterred as he joined the rest of the Freelancers in the booth.

"Gosh, it's not a very forgiving test though, is it?" he said to them all. "One hit and you're out."

"Won't be a problem if you don't get hit," Carolina replied.

The floor was set up again and more troops were herded in. Alaska strode in with the same no-nonsense air he had on everywhere else. He picked up his primary and secondary weapons – a DMR and a pistol. A pretty precise weapon for mid-long distance and a pistol. And here Massa had pegged him as a more up-close-and-personal guy.

"How long do you think he'll take?" York asked no one in particular. Massa would've answered him, but Carolina spoke before she could.

"Getting impatient?" she asked in what might have been her way of joking. "It'll be your turn soon enough."

"Just trying to start a betting pool, ma'am," York replied sweetly in a way that meant he had interpreted her comment as a joke. "Ten bucks on under five minutes."

"Why's that?" Wyoming snapped, turning away from the beginning of the fight to York. His time had been six minutes. Perhaps York should have thought his comment through.

"I don't know, I just guessed he was the kind of guy to go for the quick and simple route," York shrugged off Wyoming's annoyance easily.

"That's quite cliché," Massa cut in, looking at the three over her shoulder.

"Pay attention to the match, why don't you?" Carolina… well, Carolina ordered. The three others obeyed, but Virginia finally piped up.

"Not a whole lot is happening in the match," she murmured without looking up, perhaps specifically to undermine Carolina –that's the way Carolina seemed to see it anyway, and sent a sharp look at the other woman's back.

 _Still bitter about the cafeteria incident yesterday?_ Massa wondered. Her roommate hadn't exhibited the ability to hold a grudge before, but it was still the first day. She was just learning new things about the people around her all the time, wasn't she?

In any case, the match was a little boring, though not for those involved in it.

Alaska seemed to be a skilled puppet-master. He would make a noise, show himself just enough to attract the guards… and then appear on the other side of the room, surprisingly speedy in getting away from his pursuers and making more noise in the exact opposite direction.

He was making it seem as if he had surrounded them. The eight troops were terrified.

"Almost makes you feel sorry for them, doesn't it?" Virginia half-whispered.

"Not even close," Carolina replied.

A knock on a block had one jumpy soldier said a burst of bullets in Alaska's direction, Alaska hunkering down behind the block until it ended. The others seemed to sense an opportunity in having him pinned down  _for once_ , so quickly moved to encircle him.

Massa wasn't particularly skilled at reading people, but even she could see the precise second when Alaska must've thought 'screw this'.

He took the legs off of the first few soldiers who exposed themselves, leaving five left to deal with. Three of the remaining soldiers tried to rush him while two had the idea of going for more stealthy tactics again, backing off. Alaska shot the three twice each before they could reach him, going over each once, then twice, as if making sure they stayed down.

The two who had backed off before seemed to decide to just get it over with and spun around the block, trying to get a shot in before Alaska could…

…but Alaska shot them both, one with the pistol and one with the DMR.

"You can't shoot a DMR one-handed!" York yelped.

"You can, kind of," Massa replied, thinking back to her old company and the rather stupid things they would attempt on the firing range –all in complete safety, of course.

"I suppose he's practised somewhere," Wyoming shrugged.

"Round over," FILSS announced. Alaska had taken seven minutes, but most of that was just him messing around.

"Agent Alaska's score recorded," she continued. "Agent Massachusetts, please report for round four."

Massa took a slow, deep breath before pushing herself away from the window and heading for the door.

"Good luck," York and Florida yelled after her.

"Hopefully I won't need it!" she called back jokingly, hoping her gratitude for the well-wishing was detected.

She headed down the stairs towards the hall that led to the training room, passing Alaska along the way.

"Good luck, Massachusetts," he said as he passed her, not breaking his step.

"Thanks, Alaska." She looked over her shoulder briefly to see if he would respond. He was already halfway up the stairs.

Massa tried to shake off her nerves, thankful that no one was there to see her. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd measure up to the first three. She was a combat medic, not a medical soldier. While she'd been trained to fight with the others in her unit and could undoubtedly hold her own, her true talents lay in other areas.

But hell, if the first three didn't get shot, she sure wouldn't.

When she entered the training room the paint from the previous fight had mostly been scraped up and the eight soldiers were milling around the other end of the room. They weren't paying attention to her and they were apparently not allowed to see which weapons she chose.

Massa kept things simple. An assault rifle, a pistol and two modified frag grenades. She could work with these.

She took a position behind a block close to her, waiting for the sound of FILSS's voice.

"Round, start," she announced.

Massa considered her options.

She was not as stealthy as the others and she sure couldn't manipulate the soldiers to her bidding like Alaska. Her weapons were not long range, so she couldn't take them out from a distance like Wyoming. As for Florida's strategy, well… it just wasn't her style.

Massa checked her motion trackers. One pair was heading straight for her, but another looked like they would end up able to shoot her if she tried to shoot the two once they cleared the block next to her. She slowly looked around the corner to see which way they were facing, and then hopped over two blocks so they would cross the last line of blocks right next to her.

She didn't give them the chance.

As soon as they were close enough, she spun around the corner and sprayed them both with paint from the modified AR. They both froze.

She couldn't resist tipping one over.

Shouts alerted her to the attention she had drawn. Massa ran for more cover, trying to put as much distance between her and the ones she had taken down as possible. Another shout alerted her that she'd been spotted and she screeched to a halt as a shower of paint appeared in front of her. She hunkered down behind a block, now with both sides cut off as pink flew past her and splattered onto nearby blocks.

Massa rolled her eyes, switched to her pistol for the moment, and waited.

The idiots, possibly in the excitement of finally having an enemy pinned, seemed to have forgotten that guns had to be reloaded.

The pair on her right ran out first and before the two behind them could continue the assault, Massa leaped out from behind the block to that side.

She let out three shots. Wildly aimed on the run, admittedly, but two soldiers went down for her efforts.

 _Only four more,_  she promised herself.

She continued to move around the four, coming to rest a fair bit away and peering around the block to get a look. The remaining soldiers were now looking around and wisely putting a bit of distance between each other. She could only see two, but guessed from what showed on the trackers that they all faced out in different directions, preventing any slow, stealthy approach.

Massa was confident that she could work around that.

While the remaining four were a decent distance away from each other, they were still in a pretty small area. One pair was fairly close to her. She couldn't hope to take them both out before someone got a shot off, but there was something she could do.

Flicking the pin out of a grenade, she threw it back towards them. One scrambled back in time to avoid the blast, the other was blasted with pink.

Now that that the grenade had gotten them within a reasonable range of each other, Massa made her move.

She jumped out from cover, using her assault rifle in the classic 'spray and pray' fashion. Apparently some deity was feeling generous that day, because two collapsed under the onslaught. It was now one vs. one, and her opponent was hiding.

Her motion trackers didn't tell her where he was because he wasn't in motion. So she ducked behind some cover, watched, and waited.

She strained her ears as well, desperately trying to hear anything that could indicate his location. A blip on her tracker moved slowly and quickly faded out, quite a bit behind her and to her left. It appeared again, moving a little closer. And again. And again.

It was indeed to her understanding that the motion trackers  _could_  be tricked if you moved slowly enough, which this man was not doing. Was this really the average level of soldier in the UNSC?

In any case, she decided to end it with a bang and the first thing she had done that could really be considered 'flashy'.

Massa paid careful attention to where the man was, took into account the angles and her position, before priming a grenade and throwing it at a block. It ricocheted off sharply with a _thunk_  and landed near the soldier.

A high-pitched yelp preceded a bang and a  _splat_  has paint went everywhere.

Massa cheerfully got up and looked around the room. She sure had caused more of a mess than her stealthy predecessors. Hopefully points wouldn't be redacted for that.

She left the training room, handing in her weapons, feeling very satisfied.

"Round over," FILSS declared. The clean-up crew entered the room behind her and began the task of dragging out the soldiers and scraping away the paint.

York and Florida greeted her with 'congratulations' while Virginia piped in with a 'pretty good'. Massa translated that as high praise from the rather timid agent.

Carolina, however, was unimpressed.

"Very noisy," she said frankly.

Massa shrugged off her comment. "They aren't all going to be stealth missions."

Carolina sighed and walked around to Massa back, picking at the armour there.

"Hey, what are you –!"

In response, Carolina held up the fleck of paint which Massa had been hit with.

"Watch your back," she ordered. "They're not all going to be paint guns."


	9. One Woman Army

 

**Chapter Eight – One Woman Army**

**Agent Carolina**

**Written by ParabolaOfMystery**

* * *

_"I do the very best I know how - the very best I can; and I mean to keep on doing so until the end."_ \- Abraham Lincoln

* * *

Carolina looked down at the fleck of paint on her finger that had come off Massachusetts' armour. Under her helmet, she couldn't help but smirk. Massachusetts' trial had been okay, but noisy and messy. Not to mention she'd gotten splattered. If she was actually out in the field, that paint splatter could have been a shard of shrapnel, piercing one of the softer parts of Massa's armour. She sniffed and flicked the speck on the floor. There would be no splatter during her own trial. None at all.

She had been observing the others, carefully. Wyoming had been stealthy and precise, but cocky. Alaska had been sly and aggressive, but reckless. And Massa just seemed somewhat inexperienced to her. Out of those few, Carolina decided Florida had the best run; he was practical and clever, and didn't take unnecessary risks. There was also that grenade trick. Carolina tucked that into the back of her mind. It could come in handy one day.

"This is exciting!" Florida chirped happily, breaking the silence.

"Agent Pennsylvania, report for round five," F.I.L.S.S. stated calmly.

"Good luck, man," York said, clapping him on the back as Pennsylvania left. Carolina stared at him. Of all the freelancers here, he seemed the only one besides Florida that sincerely wanted to be nice to everyone. It was strange, and somewhat unheard of. She blinked, and noticed that York was staring at her as well. She looked away quickly, trying to ignore the heat that had rushed to her face.

Meanwhile, Pennsylvania was getting himself situated. He had seemed hesitant in grabbing weapons, but eventually chose a DMR and a few grenades.

"Round, start," F.I.L.S.S. announced.

Most of the white-armoured soldiers had spread out, occasionally ducking behind a different block or peeking out the sides. Only one soldier was creeping toward Penn, who had his back turned.

"They seem to be pretty scared of us now," Massa pointed out.

"I wonder why," Virginia chuckled.

"He'd better check his sensors," Wyoming muttered as the lone soldier crept closer and closer yet to Penn.

"Just wait," Carolina said. There was no way Penn would go down so easily- and she was right. Just as the soldier triumphantly put his battle rifle to Penn's blue-armoured head, the Freelancer spun around, fist flying; there was a large  _crack_ that reached all the way to the observation deck as the soldier's head was smashed into a block.

"Ho-lee shit," York gasped. "He just punched that guy in the face." The soldier lay crumpled on the ground, his helmet cracked. There was a bright smear of blood on the block where his head had connected. Penn didn't seem to care; he had silently slipped away and began stalking the remaining soldiers.

"Is he even still alive?" Virginia said, her helmet pressed against the glass as she peered down.

Carolina stared at the blood smear. "Does it matter? This is training. Accidents happen." The words tasted sour in her mouth. She felt the other Freelancers staring at her, but she didn't say anything. They needed to get used to accidents like this, whether they were truly accidental or not. She already knew that there would be many, many more accidents to come. As she watched Penn take out another soldier, this time shooting with the DMR at point-blank range, she had the feeling that Penn might be a bit more involved with accidents than necessary.

Penn continued to take out the soldiers one by one in the same brutal manner until the remaining ones were simply trying to stay away from him as long as possible. Unfortunately, their evasions led to a lot of time-consuming chasing by Penn, which added to his time. Finally he had cornered the last soldier, swept his legs out from under him with his foot, and shot him square in the forehead.

"Round over. Agent Virginia, report for round six." F.I.L.S.S. said. Virginia got up and left to prepare. A door opened and a group of white-clothed medics rushed out with a stretcher to examine the fallen soldier, who was still on the ground. Carolina couldn't tell if he'd stirred or not.  _Get well soon, buddy._

York tilted his head as if not sure what to make of Pennsylvania's trial. "Hmm. Well… I guess he was effective," he managed.

Penn re-entered the observation deck. Carolina couldn't help but noticed the chipped paint on his knuckles. "How'd I do?" he asked, taking off his helmet and running a hand over his dark hair.

No one said anything at first. Carolina herself was trying to come up with something to say, but held her tongue.

"Seven minutes thirty seconds," Alaska said finally.

Penn seemed to bite his lip at the time, but then shrugged and put his helmet back on. "Not too bad."

Back in the arena, Virginia had chosen a sniper rifle and a magnum. Long range and short range. It was a good choice, but Carolina felt it was generic, like she wasn't sure what weapons to choose. But who knew? Maybe they worked for her.

"Round, start."

Unlike Penn's trial where the white soldiers had stayed put, this time they all advanced on Virginia in a wide arc. Carolina could imagine gears spinning in Virginia's head as she tried to figure out how to get out of there without attracting too much attention at once. With a blur of dark green armour, the Freelancer leapt on top of one of the tall blocks and flattened raised her eyebrows.  _Interesting_. The soldiers on the ground would be expecting their target to be on the ground as well, and the dark green of her armour helped her blend in at least a little bit. Virginia practically made herself invisible.

"Now that's smart," Massa admitted.

"Look at those hooligans," Florida chuckled, pointing. The white soldiers were standing in a circle around the pillar that she was on top of, wondering if there was a malfunction with their sensors and trying to figure out wherever the Freelancer went. "She's got them in a puzzle."

Then Virginia made her move - she somersaulted off the top of the pillar, planting her feet on the shoulders of one of the troopers and hopping to the next pillar, where she turned at used the magnum to shoot. Out of six shots, four of them hit; by now she had their attention, so she turned and hopped over three more pillars before she jumped down to hide again.

"That was cool," Massa said, smiling.

Carolina didn't agree. "It was a wasted opportunity," she sighed, as Virginia ducked quickly from block to block. "If she'd waited until their backs were turned, she could have taken out more of them."

"Give it a rest," Massa groaned.

Meanwhile, the last four soldiers searched for Virginia in one group. She had them in sight, and seemed to be planning her next move. Finally she vaulted almost gymnastically over a block, where she landed smack in the middle of the group.

_Flashy._

Before they could think, she crouched and swept her leg in a circle, knocking all but one onto the ground. He shot at her, but she shoulder rolled out of the way as paint splattered behind her. She then got up swiftly and spun in a roundhouse kick, catching him in the face; he went down. She stood surrounded by downed soldiers. When a two of them stirred and tried to make a move, she decided to end it all quickly by shooting each of them in the head with her magnum.

"Round over. Agent Carolina, report for round seven." Carolina took a breath and started for the arena. She didn't see a reason to wait for Virginia.

"Good luck, Carolina," York called as she hurried down the stairs. "Kick some ass!"

She already knew what she was going for with this trial. Quick elimination. Nothing too flashy, just lightning fast and deadly, not as completely unforgiving like Penn was, not as flashy as Virginia. She still needed weapons, though. On the table was a wide array of weapons. There was a rocket launcher, a gravity hammer, battle rifles, sniper rifles… she needed something small and simple and not too flashy.

A pair of light blue guns that matched her armour lay on the table. She'd never seen them before. They seemed like some sort of alien technology and she resisted the urge to pick them up.  _Another day._ Instead, she picked up two magnums. She could almost hear the other soldiers muttering about her weapon choice, and she smiled.

"Round, start," F.I.L.S.S. announced.

Carolina ducked behind a barrier. Her motions sensors picked them up right away- There were two hiding a few rows down from her, with two more in almost the exact same places in the next row. If she ran down the centre row, there would be a soldier on either side of her. That would work out nicely. Very symmetrical, and if she timed it just right…

The other four were at the very end of the arena, hiding in a group. The soldiers were either waiting for her to make the first move, or still organizing themselves.  _They won't be expecting this soon_ , Carolina thought.  _They probably think I'm trying to make up my mind._ She spun from behind the barrier and charged down the centre row.

The first pair jumped in surprise as she approached them. She didn't break her stride, but with both arms straight out at her sides, pulled both triggers as she passed. They both collapsed to the ground, faces and upper body exploding with stiff pink paint. She dropped into a slide as the next pair shot the air where her upper body had been a fraction of a second before. She shot the magnums simultaneously again, this time hitting each in the ground. They clattered to the floor comically, making high pitched squeaking noises.

Carolina jumped out of her slide, and picked up her sprint. She was about five rows away from the other end of the arena now. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that the last four had rearranged; two were behind blocks, as the other troopers had been, but the others stood behind the adjacent sides of the other's blocks. Her double-shooting would work on the two that she would sprint past like it did for the other soldiers, but not the ones that would then be behind the blocks. After she sprinted past, they would move from behind the blocks and shoot her in the back.

This called for some improvisation.

She put as much power into her sprint as she could. She would need it. She passed the first pair of remaining soldiers. The paintballs hit them each full in the face. Then it felt like time slowed; the final two soldiers stepped from behind their blocks. Carolina planted her foot and pushed herself into the air. She felt pellets of paint whizz by her. She arched her back and flung her other foot forward, feeling her body spin upside down, until she had a wonderful of her magnums firing pink pellets at the inverted soldiers. She couldn't see if they it, as she kept spinning. She didn't need to. Her foot hit the ground again first, and she landed in a kneeling position. Her landing ankle twitched in pain, but she ignored it, instead listening to the two soldiers clatter to the ground.

She heard York's muffled yell from the observation deck.  _"What?!"_

"Round over. Agent York, report for round eight," F.I.L.S.S. stated in her cool tone.

Carolina stood and headed back to the observation deck, panting slightly. She dropped her magnums on the weapons table as she passed.

"Don't tell me," York said, striding down the last couple of stairs. "You're a Galactic Olympic Gold-Medal Gymnast. If I would've known that earlier, I wouldn't even have come. They have a one-woman army right here."

Carolina blushed.  _Why am I blushing? Stop it._  "I don't know about that."

"Come on, you were the best so far." He leaned against the stairwell casually. "Besides me, of course."

"You didn't even go yet."

"Yes, but I'm about to." He strode past her, snatching a battle rifle and shotgun off the table. "Watch and learn, baby!" he called.

Carolina rolled her eyes and went up the observation tower.

She was greeted by some clapping (Wyoming, probably trying to be polite), cheering ("You go, girl!" yelled Florida), and what she could only guess was jealousy or disbelief from the others. She half wished that they weren't wearing their helmets right now, so she could see their reactions. Not that she really cared if they liked her or not. She was simply curious. She wasn't expecting anyone to be friend with her, nor was she aiming to be buddy-buddy with anyone.

"Look who decided to use some flashy acrobatics," Virginia muttered. It seemed like she was a little bitter from the cafeteria earlier. Sure, Carolina had been a tiny bit of a bitch, but that was how she usually was. People were going to have to get used to it. "'Those aren't going to get you credit anywhere.'"

"It's not flashy if it is necessary for survival," Carolina answered calmly.

"Flashy or not, that was quite the show!" Florida clapped her on the back. "I've never seen someone move so fast in my life! Your whole trial was under two minutes!"

"Maybe you and Alaska should have a race," Pennsylvania suggested. "You're both pretty quick. That would be interesting." Carolina glanced at Alaska, who was cold and impassive as ever. There was something about him that unsettled her, but she respected that. He wasn't afraid or hesitant at all. Penn turned to the window. "Oh look, he's started."

"What is he doing?" Massa asked, half laughing.

York was calmly striding down a row of blocks, his gun over his shoulder. Whenever a white soldier peeked out from behind a block, York flipped the shotgun off his shoulder in one lightning fast movement, and there would be a blast and an explosion of pink paint and a soldier would clatter to the ground. It seemed a little too easy to be possible; there were some split seconds where a soldier could have shot and easily taken York out, but waiting for him to shoot them instead.

Carolina looked around; no one else seemed to notice. "How is he just walking though the place and winning?"

When he came to the last two soldiers, he hardly did anything. They stood facing each other, guns aimed. It seemed like York was talking to them, but Carolina couldn't even fathom what. Eventually the two lowered their guns and York shot them both in the chest. They clattered to the ground, and he walked over to them, said something else, and patted them each on the head.

"Round over. Session One Complete."

"What the hell just happened?" Penn growled, clearly infuriated by York's display.

When York arrived back the observation deck, he bowed. "Thank you, thank you."

"How did you do that?" Virginia asked.

York shrugged. "Those guys have been fighting us all day. They're tired. I just asked the last two guys if they wanted to spend a while fighting me vigorously or if they just wanted to be done for the day. Then I asked them if they wanted to get drinks with me." He paused for a second. "Does this ship have a bar?"

Florida yawned. "Well, I'm pooped. Might as well go look at the results so we can scurry off to bed. I'm in need of some shut-eye."

He paused for a moment. "They do put up the results, right?"

Carolina only shrugged in response, turning away from the blue Freelancer and staring back out at the Training Room floor. The other Freelancers filed out of the room, Penn glaring at York on his way out, until it was only York and Carolina left in the deck.

"You bribed them, didn't you?" Carolina asked, although she already knew the answer.

York shrugged and took off his helmet, revealing an easy smile. "I got to know a few of them, yes. No one told me I couldn't. It's all strategy," he added, tapping his head with his finger.

Carolina rolled her eyes. "I'm going to if we can get a look at the results," she said, brushing past him.

"Come on, Carolina!" he complained. "Have fun, Carolina! We're on a  _spaceship,_ for god's sake!"


	10. The Best Freelancer

 

**Chapter Nine – The Best Freelancer**

**Agent Pennsylvania**

**Written by Jerem6401**

* * *

" _It's not rage that drives me, it's competition."_  – Lennox Lewis

* * *

I could see them avoiding me, staring at me, whispering about me. Not like I give a damn. It was in my nature to be this agitated after a training session. Aggression is what drives me… what can drive any soldier to be their best. I'm not used to ending a session by hearing "Training Complete." I'm used to two or three allies ripping me away from a victim while screaming "That's enough Ca–"

_No._

I suppose that's not my name anymore. Agent Pennsylvania… that's what they started calling me. I guess I could say friends call me "Penn." If I considered anyone here to be a friend.

We are Freelancers. Elite soldiers hand-picked by the Director to be the killing blow in the war. We have a job. It sickens me to see so much potential wasted by being all buddy-buddy with other soldiers. York and Carolina flirt like god damn teenagers out a stroll through the park, Florida lives in some fantasy land where everything's perfect, and Wyoming floats around the Mother of Invention spitting knock-knock jokes out his ass all day. Massachusetts is the worst of the bunch. Acting like a sister to everyone on board, like she's trying to win some popularity contest. It looks like the only one here I might coexist with is Alaska. He seems like someone who knows that we're here to do a job. Virginia is quiet, and I can't quite tell anything about her quite yet. She didn't impress me too much on the training floor… but I'm nervous she might be smarter than she appears.

The locker room was clean, with every surface being a borderline mirror. I wasn't used to such conditions. I preferred the dirt and sweat of the army barracks. I guess this would have to be home for now. I had never been stationed on a spacecraft before, let alone been in anything to the scale of the Mother of Invention. The Director had a lot of funding… I just hope he invested it in the right resources.

The training session was much more rigorous than I imagined. I knew I outshined the others… or at least most of them. But Carolina… something about her was different. I could just tell. Her performance was amazing, like some kind of super-soldier. And it… it's just not fair! I should be the best one here! Not her!

"Attention all members of Project Freelancer." I looked up at the ceiling at the small speaker that fed us the Director's voice. The others jumped to attention as well. I heard York groan at the thought of another training session. I looked back down to see his face, but he had already put his helmet back on, like he was expecting the session to begin in the locker room. Before I looked up again I met eyes with Alaska… only for a second before he broke the contact, and looked at the speaker as well.

"You are all to report to the conference chambers in Section 44 immediately," the Director ordered. I looked at my helmet on the bench next to me, the visor giving me a clear, reflected view of the other Freelancers in the room. I shook my head at the thought of another training session, knowing it was my chance to prove I was better than the others. I started to make myself angry again. Get myself ready for the upcoming challenge.

"Hey, Penn!" I heard from the across the room. My eyes shot open as I snapped back to reality. Florida was standing in front of me, his blue armour reflecting off of all the pristine surfaces around us. He reached his hand out to me, while the other was placed firmly on his hip.

"You coming? On the double, buddy!"

I could feel myself getting angry, but a fight with another Freelancer wasn't going to get me any more recognition from the Director… not unless he called for it. I reached out and grabbed hold of my helmet before pushing myself up off the bench. I slid the helmet over my head, hearing a rushing sound as it sealed itself to the rest of my armour. The visor distorted everything with a yellowish tint before my HUD came online. Details about Florida's health status and vitals flashed across my screen, like I was supposed to be looking out for his ass if we were ever in battle. I walked past him, knocking his left should back as I passed.

"Let's just go," I murmured. Florida didn't respond, and I wouldn't be surprised if my message didn't get across. That guy's head was thick. Even a bomb taking out half the MOI wouldn't ruin his day. I fell in behind Wyoming as we made our way deeper into the ship. We walked single file, except, of course, for Carolina and York who walked side-by-side at the front. Carolina seemed to know her way around much better than anyone else. Not like this place wasn't a god damned maze to begin with.

"Wonder what the Director has in mind for us now," Wyoming began. I knew his words were directed at me, even though he didn't turn his head. Besides his ungodly jokes, I didn't mind Wyoming that much. He always seemed like he was keeping something to himself. It was mysterious, and almost questionable whether or not I could trust him… I liked it.

"Don't know, don't care," I replied. "The Director isn't going to take me by surprise, no matter how hard he tries." Wyoming chuckled and shook his head slightly.  _The cocky prick._

"We'll see about that, old chap." We kept walking as the signs on the walls next to us faded through the numbers until we reached 44. The conference chamber in here had nothing but a small projection table in the centre of the room, and a massive screen floating in the air, which was currently dimmed to a pitch black. We walked into the room, and like mice, flocked to the only structure in the centre. It could have been a trap for all we knew, but what did it matter. We were all just tools needed to solve a problem anyways.

"What the hell is this all about?" Alaska blurted out. York approached the table in the middle of the room and put his hands on it. He leaned forward and looked around.

"Maybe it's some kind of verbal test?" he suggested. "You know, like testing something other than our physical abilities."

"Yeah," Florida started, "like a team-building exercise? That would be just great!"

"Whatever you say, Butch," Massa chimed in. "Whatever it is, let's just get it done. Impress the Director, you know?"

"You already have," a voice called out. Like a ghost, the Director emerged from the shadows. Even with my HUD silhouetting his body, his appearance still startled me. "I was greatly satisfied with your performance on the training floor. Some of you…" he looked at Carolina for a moment, "more than others." He turned his head to Virginia, who instantly broke the eye contact and looked away towards the floor. Even her helmet couldn't hide the fact that she was blushing, and her vitals on my HUD began to pick up.

"So what if we did well?" York asked, like the Director was some old buddy of his. "We win a prize or something like that."

"Back in line, Agent New York!" the Director yelled. York put up his hands and stepped backwards.

"Yes, sir," he agreed. I was close enough to hear him when he leaned towards Carolina and spoke under his breath. "Someone has a stick up their ass." She didn't respond, but something made me think she was smiling under that mask.

"This is not a prize," the Director continued, "nor is it a punishment. This is simply a way to keep track of your progress as a soldier, and an asset to Project Freelancer." He reached out the table in front of him and pressed a button. The beeping sound that emitted from it was immediately overtaken by the massive screen above us. It lit up to a bright blue, which illuminated the entire rom around us. Several bars appeared on the screen with the numbers one through eight listed next to each one in order. Suddenly our names began to appear next to the numbers. It became disturbingly apparent to me that this was not a list… this was a ranking.

It wasn't surprising to me than Virginia was at the bottom, and again her vitals peaked, although I couldn't tell whether it was with shame or anger, when the other names appeared. Next up on the list was Florida, followed by Massachusetts. Again this didn't surprise me. As I've said before, being someone's friend doesn't make you a better soldier. You need to be ruthless to get anywhere. Seeing them at the bottom warmed my heart a bit… but I was shattered when the next name appeared on screen.

"What?!" I yelled. "Number 5?!"

"Calm down, Penn," York began, "not like this really means anything."

"Actually, York," the Director interrupted. "This scoreboard means everything. Only the top agents are sent into the field. I'm sorry Agent Pennsylvania, but if the mission calls for four, Agent Alaska will be entering the field, not you." I looked at Alaska, and I knew he could see me getting angry on his HUD.

"What's the problem, Penn," he started, "can't handle a little competition." Suddenly the rest of the names appeared, placing Alaska at fourth, York in third, Wyoming in second, and not surprisingly, Carolina was in first. I turned to Alaska, grinding my teeth together.

"You should keep your comments to yourself, Alaska," I growled. "You'll live longer." He turned to face me, and we were now only a few feet from each other. Our visors couldn't stop the eye contact as we tried to stare each other down.

"You don't scare me, Penn," he remarked.

"Then you don't know me well enough," I quietly replied.

"Enough!" yelled the Director. "Pennsylvania! Any problems you have with the current scoreboard can be remedied in future training sessions. Prove you're better than Alaska and you may earn your spot above him."

"Harsh," York commented.

"Hey c'mon," Florida began, "it could be a fun way to challenge each other."

"It is not to start a war," the Director finished. "It is so every Freelancer knows their place." We all looked at one another. Now there was a rank? A solid vision of who was better. The worst part is the Director thought there were four. He thought there were four people better than me!

"Director," Carolina called out. "Don't you think this seems a bit unfair? To put your soldiers in a compromised position like this? It's a massive blow to our trust in one another."

"We're done for today," the Director ordered. "You will learn your place, Agent Carolina! Do not question my authority on-board my own vessel. Unless you want Wyoming to take your place?" Carolina looked towards Wyoming who had his arms folded. He chuckled a bit and turned back to the Director.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said quietly. "I won't interrupt again."

"Good," he finished. "Dismissed." I looked at Alaska once again before he turned his head and walked out of the room.  _That bastard._ He wasn't going to pretend like he was better than me. I'd show him… I'd show the Director… I'd show everyone. Suddenly I felt someone's hand on my shoulder as they passed. Pushing me slightly as they made their way to the door. I turned my head to see Massa making her way to the exit.

"You better watch out, Penn," she said in a snarky tone. "You're only one slot ahead of me. Next thing you know, we'll be painting a big number '6' on the back of your head." She turned away and walked out, followed by everyone else. I stood alone in the room, the scoreboard silhouetting my shadow on the ground in front of me. I closed my eyes and closed my hand into a fist. It almost hurt… and I wanted it to. The Director can't understand what he's done to me. I would prove I'm better than them. I had to prove I was better than them. I'm not one to just sit back and let this happen…

… _I'm the best Freelancer…_


	11. The Next Step

 

**Chapter Ten - The Next Step**

**The Director**

**Written by NicKenny**

* * *

_"I find that the best way to do things is to constantly move forward and to never doubt anything and keep moving forward, if you make a mistake say you made a mistake."_  - John Frusciante

* * *

The day after the agents were introduced to the leaderboard I was running through an overview of our current progress with F.I.L.S.S., focusing particularly on the progress of our simulation program. The Counselor had coined some ridiculous term for this program, calling them "red versus blue wars" which, to my distaste, had been taken up by several members of our personnel on board the  _Mother of Invention,_ including F.I.L.S.S. herself.

So far, progress had been promising, our bases complete and fully-manned, running through the various scenarios we had organised for them to keep them busy until we had further use for them. And very soon, we would. My plans were already in motion. It was time to move on to the next step.

But first, I had to deal with a few problems before we were ready to take the plunge.

"F.I.L.S.S. please send Agent Virginia in, would you?" I asked, wearily settling down into my chair, flicking through various frames on my data-pad absentmindedly.

"Of course, Director," she replied, presumably messaging Virginia at the same time. I often wondered how we coped before the creation of AI's, even "dumb" ones. Aboard the Mother of Invention, F.I.L.S.S. had proved indispensable.

In less than five minutes the doors  _whooshed_  open to admit Agent Virginia into the room. She strolled in, clad in full dark green armour with dark red trim, her face masked behind her visor, snapping off a crisp salute when she reached my desk.

"At ease Agent," I wearily stated, waving a hand dismissively, watching her hands fall to her sides and her shoulders drop as she slid into a more comfortable stance.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" she murmured, and, while I couldn't tell whether or not she was meeting my gaze underneath her helmet, I somehow doubted it.

I smiled thinly, staring at her over steepled fingers. "Yes, Agent, I did. I hope you've had the time to dwell on the leaderboard. No doubt you've formed your own opinions at this stage. Could I ask for your honest opinion on these rankings?"

Virginia stared at me for a moment, clearing undergoing some sort of internal struggle before suddenly blurting out, "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

I nod slowly. "Permission granted."

Virginia nodded, then raised her arms and fiddled with the back of her helmet for a moment, found the clasps she was looking for, and slid off her helmet, revealing the young woman beneath the armour.

She wasn't much to look at, I must admit, but that applied for all of our Agents. Not one of them had anything about them that screamed highly-trained Special-Ops super soldier. Well, maybe Agent Pennsylvania, but that was only due to his immense size. And even with that, others had impressed me more in the training-room.

Green eyes, darker than my own or Agent Carolina's. Tanned skin, no doubt a result of exposure on planet's she had served on previously while in the UNSC. Black hair with one ridiculous looking neon-blue stripe dyed into it.

All in all, nothing about her suggested that she was anything more than a young woman from one of the Outer Colonies, whose only concerns involved where the next pay-check was coming from and what club to go to next Friday night.

Indeed, if I didn't have her test scores on my data-pad in front of me, along with a collection of currently streaming muted videos from her brief period in the marines, I myself would struggle to believe that this…girl had any place on this ship.

"Those rankings are bullshit, sir," she said, her eyes finally meeting my gaze, her mouth set in a line of grim determination. "There's no way in hell that I deserved to be last."

I raised my eyebrows questioningly. "Really? Then who would you have suggested?"

She raised her hands theatrically, shrugging slightly. "There's no doubt that everyone deserves to be here, but other than Carolina, Florida and maybe Alaska, all of the others made mistakes. Wyoming took way too long to take down those soldiers, preferring not play it safe and not take any risks. Penn potentially gave them a killing shot, just to demonstrate his physical strength. Massa actually got hit by a paint fleck, and didn't demonstrate any flair at all in her run! York…York actually bribed the soldiers into letting him take them out, a tactic that certainly won't apply on the battlefield!"

She stopped, suddenly aware of how loud her voice had become, and shrugged apologetically. "At least, that's how I see it, sir."

At least she's not unintelligent, I mused, staring at her for a moment, choosing my words. If only she was able to see the bigger picture.

"All of your observations were correct, Agent Virginia, that I cannot deny. However, I can't help but feel that you might have missed out on something here."

She frowned, her brow wrinkling in confusion as she puzzles over my statement. "What do you mean, sir?" she eventually replies.

"Did it ever occur to you that there was a reason behind why each of you were selected for this program? Agent Carolina's test scores were off the charts, so there was little hesitation there and I don't think that even you could deny that she deserves to be our Number One. We needed a demolitions expert, as most military operations do, and the UNSC had few operatives better than Agent Florida. His little demonstration with that frag grenade demonstrated his intelligence and was a testament to his ability."

I saw her nod along to what I was saying, although the reasons that I was giving her were, in truth, only half-reasons behind my selections of those operatives. But the other half I firmly intended on keeping to myself.

"Agent Wyoming's wariness is due to his experiences as an ODST sniper on Sansar. He has learnt that, in a real battle, haste gets you killed. Pennsylvania was chosen precisely because of his physical prowess. There will be times when your weapons won't serve you and then you will be happy to have a close combat specialist on your team. Massachusetts' experience is that of a combat medic, a soldier with a defensive mentality, not the offensive one that the rest of you seem to cherish. You'll be happy to have her by your side too, should the time come. Finally, Agent York was chosen as an infiltration specialist. The fact that he was able to think so quickly on his feet, and his knowledge of the human mind, only makes me more confident in my selection of him."

I stop, lecture finished, and stare at her for another moment.

"And Alaska?"

I frown, not entirely welcoming this question, or all that pleased with the sudden disappearance of the word "sir".

"Agent Alaska shone on the training floor, as you yourself admitted. He was chosen for a reason, just as the rest of you were, but for the meantime that shall remain known only to me, until we have a need for his…abilities."

I saw her pause, stiffening up a little at this curt response, but she nodded slowly in acceptance before looking up again once more.

"Why was I selected?"

I stare at her for a moment, one eyebrow raised in reprimand, and she quickly inclines her head in apology.

"Sir."

"You were selected for a myriad of reasons, Agent Virginia. I have no doubt that you've been wondering why you were chosen, while your sister, whose test scores were…noticeably higher, was not?"

She nods, clearly not trusting herself to speak up at this point. Her eyes are misting up slightly, no doubt missing her twin. Well I could sympathise with that. I knew what it was like to miss someone…

"I've followed your career for a long time, Agent. While you never shone in the same way that your sister had, your test scores where still remarkably high. When you factor into this equation the fact that you've spent you entire life living in your sister's shadow, I must confess. I was  _intrigued_. Your sister had reached the limits of her potential, never having to push past any obstacles in her life. You however, were a different story."

I could see her clinging to every word that comes out of my mouth, not entirely able to believe what I was saying. This was probably the most honest that I've been with her, up to this point, but I still couldn't reveal the entirety of my reasoning behind her selection.

"I began to wonder that if we separated you from her, how much more would you improve? How much more could you give if you were removed from her shadow, and allowed to grow in the light? The reason why you are bottom of that leaderboard, Virginia, is not because you were the worst agent on the day, but because you  _only_  gave it your best."

I could see confusion start to settle on her face, but I quickly raised my hand to prevent her from speaking. "I mean to say that you only gave the best from the person you were before you came into this project. I know that I have yet to see the best of Agent Virginia."

She stared at me, unmoving, before finally nodding. She slowly placed her helmet back on her head, her features once more hidden behind the bronze visor.

"I understand, Director."

With that, I dismissed her, watching her as she left the room, wondering if she truly did.

 _We can but hope_ , I decided, then turned back to my work.  _There was still so much to do after all._

"I think I'm starting to like her."

I sigh, raising my hand to my forehead in exasperation. "You like everyone F.I.L.S.S. You were  _programmed_  to like everyone. What use would I have for an AI that continually insulted the personnel on this ship?"

The AI was silent for a moment, no doubt affronted by the tone in my voice. Why I created an AI with issues about manners, I cannot begin to remember or even suspect. I no doubt had good intentions at the time…

"The Counselor is here to see you, sir," she murmured, her voice still containing a slight edge of disapproval to it, not yet willing to consign my rudeness to the past.

"Send him in F.I.L.S.S." I sigh wearily after giving her these orders.  _What does he want now?"_ I wondered grimly, taking a brief moment to compose myself before he came in. It was only a minute or two before he strolled in, a serious look on his face.

"Director, I see you've moved the simulation program ahead of the pre-agreed schedule," he intoned, trembling slightly with what I assume must be anger, but his slight frame makes this look more comical than intimidating, and I had to undergo a brief struggle to prevent a smile forming on my face.

"Yes, Counselor. I feel that, after yesterday's training assignment, the agents are ready for something a little more…challenging."

The Counselor was shaking his head before I had even finished speaking. "Any and all schedule changes are to be discussed with me first! You can't just authorise this sort of thing without running it by me first!"

Now I let myself smile, genuinely enjoying the moment. "Actually Counselor, you'll find that I can."

He paused, his moment of anger forgotten as he stared at me, unable to understand what I had meant. "I…I'm sorry Director, I don't follow. I was assigned to this project by the UNSC exactly for moments like this! The agents are not ready for a field test, and in my opinion some of them never will be!"

My smile only grew wider and I shook my head in mock-sympathy. "My dear Counselor, your opinion is not required in this instance. I knew that you would be…hesitant over this decision, so I went above you."

I paused for a moment, allowing the meaning of my words to sink in. When I saw understanding finally dawn in his eyes, I leaned forward and continued with my speech. "The UNSC responsible for liaising with this project, and in particular, Chairman D'Atombe, agreed with my suggestions that we advance the training schedule for our agents. The results of yesterday's exercise have convinced them to see things my way. So yes, the simulation program  _is_ being moved ahead of schedule. I have no doubt that our agents are up for it."

The Counselor just stared at me, disbelief evident in his features. His mouth took on a grim twist and he finally spat out: "Well I'm afraid I don't share your beliefs, Director. These agents are  _not_  ready for anything as gruelling as the planned simulation program. There is too much that could go wrong in such an exercise, and the agents still haven't had time to familiarise themselves with their armour or their team-mates. If you send them out like this, the way they are now, someone is going to die. And I won't let that be on my head."

"Counselor, do you really believe that I would be so  _reckless_ as to endanger the lives of my agents? We won't reach the planet that the UNSC have assigned to us for training purposes for another week at earliest. The agents still have time to train and get to know one another. To move forward, certain risks  _must_ be taken. I believe in my agents and their capacity to outdo  _your_  expectations, Counselor. I have the UNSC's backing in this. So are you going to help me in this, or hinder me?"

The Counselor looked down at his data-pad, sighing heavily, and raised his free hand in order to massage his temple. "Very well then, Director, but I still believe that we're moving too fast."

I lean back in my chair, taking off my glasses and rubbing my eyes wearily. "I understand," I put my glasses back on, slowly stood up, and turned to look out through the observation deck, staring out into the black abyss of space. "We are moving faster than I would like, Counselor, whether you believe it or not. The simple fact remains: we are at war. I'm not talking about the Insurrection against our society, but a fight with an alien race for the very survival of our species. We have to push them, because there is no alternative. We simply do not have the time to play it safe."

He nodded, a look of understanding on his face. He sighed again, shrugging weakly. "I am sorry, Director. It is not my place to question your decisions. You are right, of course. I was not seeing the bigger picture."

He turned and left, and I continued to stare out into space. "F.I.L.S.S.," I murmur quietly. "Prepare a new journal entry, would you?"

"Of course, Director," there is a brief pause. "Recording now."

I nod in thanks and begin, letting out the emotions that I've been struggling with all day.

"This is Director Leonard Church of Project Freelancer. Progress has gone well today, and I believe I have solved several of the problems that had been plaguing me up until now. Today I have been reminded, all too much, of the fact that no matter how we prepare, we  _never_  have enough time…"

* * *

A week later, I was standing in the same spot, but this time, instead of staring out at empty space, my eyes were locked on the planet before us. It resembled Earth in so many ways, its oceans a vivid blue, the land ranging from the darkest of browns to the white of ice-caps. The only way it differed was that the continents were all out of shape, like someone had torn them apart, reshaping them to suit their own will.

Its name was Eris, discovered forty years ago but was ruled out for colonisation due to its relative isolation. But that precise trait made it perfect for a military testing ground, and the UNSC had been testing out weapons and organising simulation missions for years. It seemed somewhat fitting that Project Freelancer would be able to do the same.

"Director, the team has assembled," the Counselor intoned next to me, his face serious, data-pad by his side.

I turned to him, nodding in acknowledgement. "Very well, then."

We slowly walked over to the assembled agents, all huddled around the metallic table that dominated the centre of the room, glowing a deep blue. I waved a hand towards the Counselor, who quickly flicked through his data-pad, and suddenly the table began to hum, projecting an image of a boxed canyon, one side opening to accommodate a seemingly endless supply of water, with two circular structures at either end, with a huge spire protruding from the heart of these bases.

"Agents, welcome to outposts 17-A and B, codenamed Valhalla. Here, you'll partake in your first simulation mission. You will be split up into two teams. Team A will consist of Agents Carolina, Wyoming, Pennsylvania and Alaska. Team B will be made up of York, Massachusetts, Virginia and Florida. Carolina and York will lead their respective teams."

Around me, I notice the various agents nod to each other, each team mentally sizing up the other. I could see the confident aura that surrounded Team A. No doubt they saw themselves as favourites here.  _Unsurprising, really_. The three agents at the bottom of the leaderboard were all on Team B. Still, I wouldn't rule out either team.

I cleared my throat and continued my speech. "The objective is simple, capture the flag. Team A will have to capture the flag from the Blue base, Team B will have to take the Red's."

Each base lit up as I mentioned them, shining white against the blue background. "I'm sure you're all familiar with the goals of this sort of exercise. First team to capture their designated flag, wins. It's that simple."

Virginia suddenly spoke up, surprising me slightly. "How many tangos are we looking at, sir?"

I smiled, having expected this question. "I'm not going to say. For all extents and purposes, other than this map, you'll be going in blind. You won't know the enemies numbers, their whereabouts, their weaponry or their capabilities. This is first contact, agents. It's time to step up to the level that you all assumed when you took on the title Freelancer."

Wyoming then coughed lightly from the back of the group, his visor staring straight at me. "How about our weapons, sir? Will we be using paint guns again?"

"No, Agent Wyoming. Not this time. Your guns will be fitted with blanks and infra-red sights. When you score a direct hit, the simulation troopers' armour will go into Armour-Lock, effectively rendering them immobile."

"Will they carry similarly adapted weapons?" Carolina this time, focusing on the most crucial aspect of this mission.  _How very like her._

Ismiled this time, shaking my head slowly. "No, Carolina, their weapons will contain live ammunition. The simulation is designed to protect them, not you. If any of you get hit from a simulation trooper, quite frankly you don't deserve to take part in this project."

I raised my head, staring directly at the assembled soldiers. "The training ends now, agents. There is no more room for error. No more second chances. If you make a mistake now, you're going to pay for it. Having said that, do you have any more questions?"

I stared at them for a moment, but none of them moved, a heavy silence having settled over all assembled, no doubt reflecting on the meaning of what I had just said.

"Very well then. Team A will escorted by pilot Four Seven Niner, Team B by pilot 343-R. You have three hours before take-off. I advise you to prepare yourself mentally for this mission. Show me that you have earned your place here. Prove to me that you truly are the best of the best. Dismissed."

The agents filed out, but I called York and Carolina back before they could leave. They stood to attention before me, exuding confidence, and I couldn't help the slight smile that formed on my face. "Agents, you know the mission, you know your team. I cannot prepare you any more for this. Make sure that you control your teams, and complete this objective as quickly as you can. Other than that, I can only wish you luck. May the best team win!"

They nodded to me and I dismissed them for a final time, watching them banter with each other as they left the room. The Counselor walked over to me, a worried expression on his face.

"I still don't think they're ready," he murmured, not meeting my eyes.

I sighed heavily, resting my hand on his shoulder. "Not this same old argument again, Counselor, please. They're as ready as they ever will be. They will complete the objective, and we will be one step further on this road that we are travelling."

He looked up at me, unable to keep the reproaching look off his face. "I just can't help but feel that some agents, Pennsylvania and Alaska in particular, are just not ready for a team-based assignment. They have strongly resisted all attempts to assimilate into the group, and, given their service records, that's not surprising."

"Both agents have done well in training, Counselor. I have confidence that Agent Carolina will be able to restrain them, should the time come."

"I hope you're right, Director. For all our sakes."

I sigh. "I hope so too."

We stood there for a moment, staring at the leaderboard that had been placed next to the holographic table. I turned to the Counselor, my face grave once more. "I need you to do something for me, Counselor."

"Of course, Director. What is it?"

I turned away, staring back out at Eris, frowning as I stared at its familiar, and yet alien, surface. "I need you to go down onto the planet and visit the Command Facility in the planet's northern hemisphere. We have several armourers there, working on suits based on those we…received from ONI. The sim troopers that our agents are going to surprise have already been outfitted, but I need you to do a thorough report on progress in that facility. For obvious reasons, I don't want to have to use the more typical means of communication in order to contact those involved."

He stared at me for a moment, clearly reluctant to accept this assignment. Eventually, he gave in, sighing as he did so. "Very well then Director, I will do this. On one condition: the agents are not to be sent out on another Simulation Mission until I return."

I could see the determination in his eyes, the grim line his mouth was set in. "We have an agreement, Counselor. We will await your return before organising another mission. You have my word."

He nodded to me, and turned away, contacting the pilots and informing them of their new assignment. I turned back to the leaderboard, its blue surface reflected of my glasses. "And so we begin the next step," I murmur, running a hand through my hair.

"We will see if these soldiers are up to the task. We will see if they fail and fall, or succeed and rise. We will see if they truly are  _Freelancers._ "


	12. Gear Up

**Chapter Eleven – Gear Up**

**Agent Alaska**

**Written by Avalanche Wolf**

* * *

_"Sometimes it isn't easy to be sane, smart, and responsible. Sometimes it sucks. Sucks wang. Camel wang. But that doesn't turn wrong into right or stupid into smart."_  - Harry Dresden

* * *

_The young officer sat next to the wall. He had black hair that was in a typical officer cut. Long, yet professional. His blue eyes looked down at the DMR on his lap. Today, he was getting his cherry popped. His first mission out to find insurrectionists. He tried to keep his thoughts under control. Wouldn't look right to throw up in front of troops. Yeah, defiantly not a good idea._

_He managed to get himself under control as a marine walked up to him. "Sir, are you alright?" The officer looked up at the marine and nodded. "Y..yes. I'm fine. Just...a little nervous. I mostly work behind a desk, or in an enclosed room." The marine chuckled a bit. "Eh, you'll be fine sir. Just stay close."_

_Another officer walked in and ordered the men to form up. Once everyone was in formation, he began his brief. "Alright, ladies. Our mission is to find us some Innies. We have reason to believe they are hiding out in a small village on the planet below. We're going to drop in, find them, and take them out. We have someone from ONI to handle tracking and interrogation. Now then, let's get going. Load up!"_

_The officer looked down at his DMR and walked down the hall. A marine ran up to him and slapped him on the back. "Don't worry sir. We're prepared if the bullets start to fly."_

* * *

"I'll be prepared if the bullets start to fly." Alaska picked up the DMR and looked over it. The weapon was more familiar to him than anything else in the room. Alaska preferred to take out targets from a distance and then do his work up close and personal. The DMR was very precise. Once everything is adjusted, he could shoot the wings off a fly at 900 yards.

Alaska was grabbing his ammo when a cocky voice spoke up. "Quite the bit of ammo for a training mission." Wyoming. Alaska never cared for the guy. Something just didn't sit right with him. Alaska was strapping another holder onto his leg. "I believe a wise man once said, though the worst may come and the world end, you can always win with more ammo." Alaska took the DMR and placed it on his back, knowing exactly what angle it sat for a quick grab.

He looked around at his team's equipment. Wyoming seemed to appreciate the sniper rifle. Powerful though it may be, limited shots could be fired. Hence why Alaska preferred the DMR. Stopping power with enough bullets to get the job done. Carolina decided to use a pair of magnums. An up close and personal type fighter. Alaska would have thought she was insane, but with the moves he's seen, it seemed appropriate...for an overachieving attention grabber. Pennsylvania was equipping an assault rifle with some grenades, a DMR already slung on his back. Alaska couldn't help but think of him as a child. With a magnifying glass. Over an ant hill. On a clear day. With a bottle of water to drown the survivors. Too much?

Maybe a little.

* * *

_There went his lunch. The young officer left the remnants of his chow on the ground as he turned back to where the marines gathered around. He could hear them arguing among themselves. "Man, we are screwed. Really, really screwed."_

_"Will you just shut up?! We have a mission to complete."_

_"Mission? As far as I'm concerned, this mission just became fifty different kinds of screwed up. We just lost our CO, and we don't have any way to track." One marine looked over at the ONI officer. "Sir, you have to take command. You lead us to the Innie base, and we'll take it from there."_

_The officer was stunned. "I...I...I don't know if I can. I mean...I've never lead a unit before. I'm an intelligence officer. I work on paperwork."_

_"Well right now, you're a commander. So start commanding. Where to?" The ONI officer sighed and looked around. "This way. There is an insurrectionist base not far from here." The marine nodded. "Alright, you heard the man, let's get moving."_

* * *

Alaska walked to the end of the room. Their flight was supposed to be leaving soon, and he wanted to be on it. As he walked by Florida, he nudged his shoulder. Alaska cocked his head to the right and spoke hard. "Watch it." Something in Florida's voice told Alaska that Florida snapped. "What is your problem with me? I'm just trying to be nice." Alaska turned and walked up to Florida, towering over him. "That's right. Nice. That is the problem." He jabbed Florida with his finger. "Your too nice. Too happy. Too energetic. To you, this is all just some game for you to play. Well for me, it's a nice meal ticket out. You're small, and not as tough as you think you are. If you been what I have been through, you wouldn't last the first half hour. So I give some free advice to you, little Florida. Stay out of my way, or you might get some metal put through your skull."

Alaska was very much aware that people were starring. He could feel it in the room. With that, he turned and walked out. As he walked down the corridors, she appeared next to him, as she always did. "Did you have to be so mean to him? I think you were a little hard on him." Alaska sighed. "You're not picking sides now, are you Moi?"

"You know I'm on nobody's side. Not his, yours, or anyone's."

"I will handle him how I see fit. Besides Moi, I think that it might make him a little tougher. Sometimes, you have to apply a little pressure to ensure something hardens." Moi moved in front of him and placed her slender hand on his chest, causing him to stop. "Too much, and that same thing you're trying to harden will shatter." Alaska looked down at her. "Philosophical as always." Another voice spoke. "Sir, you are you talking to?"

Alaska turned and looked at a pair of crewman who were staring at him. When Alaska turned back, Moi was gone. That made him upset. He grabbed one of the crew and lifted him up. "Next time, I crush your spine into powder." He lightly tossed the man back and continued down to the hanger. As always, Alaska was the last to arrive. He got into the Pelican as the engines roared and the rear door closed.

A woman's voice came over the speaker. "Ladies and gentleman, welcome aboard Pelican flight Four Seven Niner, I'll be pilot today. This is a non-smoking Pelican. In the event of a water crashing, worry about your damn selves, and I'll worry about me. For a land crashing, well...let's not worry about that shall we? Due to the shortness of the flight, there will be no inflight snacks or movies. And if you have a problem with that, take it up with my port exhaust. So for now, just sit down, shut up, and no puking in my bird."

Alaska sat down and leaned back as he felt the Pelican take off and fly to their mission. "Easy as pie."

* * *

_"We can't. It's not right." The rain had just begun to fall. The officer and marines were just outside the base and performing a recon of the area. The marine glared down and held his weapon. "We can. The Innies are going to pay for what they did."_

_"But they aren't insurrectionists. There are no one down there. I made a mistake. You can't attack. There's women, and children down there." Another marine spoke. "This guy is starting to sound like one of them. I'm going in." The officer stared at him. "Stand down. We are not doing anything until we have orders from command. It's the right thing to do." He turned his back and was about to make a call, but now...he couldn't remember. He was going to do something, something important, but now the base of his skull hurt. He fell to the ground, having no idea how he got there. He heard the marines talking like he couldn't hear. "You...I can't believe you did that."_

_"Waiting for orders? That's going to take too long. We go in guns blazing."_

_"This isn't right. We'll be court-martial. I think we should..." The marine never finished. There was a muffled pop and silence. "Anyone else wanna join him? Good. Let's burn this base." The next thing he heard in the distance was the screams of women among the gunfire. Was he right? Did he do the right thing? It didn't seem that way with his face in the mud and innocent people dying._


	13. Bag of Tricks

**Chapter Twelve – Bag of Tricks**

**Agent Virginia**

**Written by anna1795**

* * *

 " _Remember teamwork begins by building trust. And the only way to do that is to overcome our need for invulnerability."_ – Patrick Lencioni

* * *

 Virginia kept her footing and just rolled with the motion as the Pelican made a swift descent over the crystal blue water of Eris. White-capped peaks with lush forests rose up on the distant horizon as their pilot, 343-R, flew them on the most direct path towards the base. Florida and York lurched in their safety harnesses, still clutching their respective weapons. Beside Virginia, Massa rolled with the motions as well, though Virginia could only imagine that her roommate was slightly green under that helmet.

Virginia was very glad that she had Massa as her roommate, as opposed to Carolina. The other woman was friendly and motherly, and she respected Virginia's more reserved nature. They weren't the best of friends, but Virginia had never had one. They had their conversations in the privacy of their quarters every morning and night, but not in such a way that they revealed too much about themselves.

"When we touch down," York called over the roar of the Pelican's engines, "we're going to check in with the sim trooper's commander on site, tell him the plan, and prep for engagement. We'll keep Florida and Massa closer to the base."

"Any particular reason you want me on home turf, York?" Massa asked.

"According to the Director, you've got some of the best medical experience out of all of us. I need you towards the back just in case one of us gets hurt, and also if either Virginia or I is put out of commission by that live ammo. Florida, you will be in charge of helping keep the flag safe from Team A."

"No problem, boss," Florida waved a jaunty, casual salute at the team leader.

"Virginia, I need you as my backup for sneaking through the territory and getting to the flag," York explained, and Virginia looked into his visor. "I don't necessarily know what you're good at. I'm pretty sure you can help me get in and out of the other base in one piece, but what exactly can I expect out of you?"

Virginia couldn't help but smile a little under her helmet. Just the slightest curl of her lips. "I can do both long and short distance attacks," she motioned to the sniper rifle slung to her side. "And I'm pretty good with setting traps."

"Works for me," York nodded. "I'll head into Team A's territory first and progress as far as I can. Virginia, you'll stay behind and trip them up a bit. When I give the word, you come in after me. I'm gonna need you to be some of the muscle."

Virginia nodded, taking a look at the ammo pack strapped to her side. She had put it together for when she was doing infiltration missions back when she was a marine, and it blended with her armour quite nicely. One side was a dark green cammo canvas, and the other was light tan. Her former squad-mates had affectionately called it her "bag of tricks."

"This may only be an exercise, but treat it like any sort of mission," York reminded them as 343-R called for a landing. "We have our objective, so let's get it done."

"Were you just channelling the Director, York?" Massa laughed, and Florida gave a hearty chuckle. York shook his head in mock exasperation.

"And…touchdown!" 343-R called back to them as the Pelican lit down on the ground with practiced ease. The gangway opened, and they rushed out without further encouragement from their pilot. Virginia had to blink behind her visor as she got accustomed to the sunlight from the darkness of the ship's interior. Gripping her ammo bag and her sniper rifle firmly, Virginia treading silently with the rest of the group to where another group of soldiers (in various garish shades of red armour) stood waiting in front of the base. York stepped forward and shook the hand of the leader (who wore the least offensive shade of brick red) and started explaining the situation as the Director had told him to: explaining that this was a war game and their objective was to help these soldiers defend the flag from the Blue army.

Virginia wasn't necessarily paying attention to the other soldiers until two of the smaller ones, who had both been conversing in hushed tones, gasped at the sight of her and collapsed in what seemed to be a dead faint. However, upon closer examination, they were actually… _bowing to her?!_ Virginia stepped back slightly as the brightly-coloured sim. Troopers began speaking absolute nonsense. She could barely pick up muffled words from where their faces were pressed against the ground. "Holy Angel…clad in the colour most holy…graced with the blessing of the Flag…"

"Looks like you've got a pair of admirers," Florida joked as she backed up further away from the pair of strange men.

"Don't mind them, miss," the commander saluted as he spoke to her. "They just got transferred here from…I don't know where. Just a couple of odd ducks, but this means that they like you, I guess. Probably cause of the bits of red on you." Virginia wasn't necessarily as sure, but she held her tongue.

York, sensing Virginia's discomfort, pulled her aside. "I know we're supposed to work as a team here, but do you wanna go ahead and take off and set some traps?" Virginia heaved a sigh of relief and nodded. "Keep in touch. I don't think I'll have to send anyone after you though. Just one more thing-" Virginia turned back around from where she was going to take off. "Just…try not to snag Carolina."

Virginia could not believe it. There wasn't room for romance in war! What was her team captain thinking?!

"I'll try, but I make no promises," was all that she could say, and York gave her a nod of thanks before she took off running.

Virginia dashed low along the sides of the valley, closer to the shade where she knew that some of Team B would be sneaking along to try and get behind the Red base. She spotted a few bushes that would provide good cover, and took a spool of thin metallic wire from her trick bag. Grabbing a knife strapped to her thigh, she cut a sizeable length and began to set up a good trip wire system. Through one branch, along a cluster of leaves, behind this rock…

In less than forty-five seconds, Virginia stood up and inspected the nearly invisible wire, then dashed off to another spot to repeat a similar process. She kept ducking into shadows and inspecting for places to set traps, and her mind settled into a regular rhythm that she had almost forgotten in the hastiness of her induction into Project: Freelancer. Memories were coming back of the good old days, back when she and her slightly older sister had been younger and used to go play in the woods behind the town.

* * *

 " _You take this snare here and cover it with some of this leaf litter…_ "

" _I don't know…won't they get hurt by it? Won't it just strangle them to death?_ "

" _If you set this trap right, it snaps the neck quick and clean._ "

" _You think this might be your calling, sis? Setting traps to catch animals for food?_ "

" _I can't say for sure,_ " she remembered saying years ago. " _I just feel like it's something that I can do easily, and it'll help people._ "

* * *

 " **Come in, Virginia,** " York's voice crackled over the radio. Virginia finished covering up the loop with leaf litter, as she had learned to long ago, and brought her finger up to her radio.

"I read you loud and clear, York," Virginia whispered, dashing back to the cliff face and starting to scale the side for a better look while keeping to the shadows.

" **I'm getting into Blue territory right now with three of the Reds. I left five of them behind to defend the Flag with Florida and Massa.** "

Virginia crouched on the ledge and scanned the more open spaces in the direction of Blue base. "I've got you in sight." She saw something else, too. "Pennsylvania, five o'clock. He's got a Blue with him."

" **Copy that.** " York's voice cut off as he and the Reds raced towards the base, splitting into two groups and forming a pincer manoeuvre. Penn and his tag-along continued on their way towards the Red base.

Suddenly, there came a loud scream as one of the Reds in the other pincer group collapsed to the ground, his armour crackling with yellow energy as he entered armour- lock. His partner took off in a blind panic, crashing into a bush, and chaos ensued. Virginia could only shake her head as shots, both from the Freelancer's laser-operated weapons and the Sims' live ammo, went rocketing through the air in every direction.

" **We're taking fire!** " Massa's voice came over the radio waves. " **I've got Alaska, Pennsylvania, and about three Blues shooting at us.** "

" **I've lost my cover, too!** " York replied. " **And someone keeps sniping at me. Virginia, take care of that sniper if you can and get to me at Blue base. I'll order the rest of the Reds back to the base to protect the flag.** "

Virginia dodged a few stray bullets and ducked back into the shadows of the cliff side, looking for where York would be and the sniper aiming at him. Catching sight of where the shots might be coming from, she crept along the ridge and slid down a long slope back to the main valley floor, sneaking up behind the perpetrator. Grabbing a Magnum from her pack and slipping in a cartridge, she snuck up behind him and gave an honest to goodness grin under her helmet.

"Nice to see you, Wyoming," she said, and the white soldier whipped around, facing the barrel of her gun.

"Oh dear," the Brit gasped as Virginia fired -

"Damn it!" she cursed as the white Freelancer ducked out of the way and took off. She ran after him, noticing that they were heading towards Red base. Getting an idea, she started firing at the ground at Wyoming's feet, steering him in a certain direction. Seeing the bushes ahead of him, Wyoming took the opportunity and started running at an angle to get away -

"Nice try, Wyoming," Virginia released a rare expression of emotion at the Freelancer frozen on the ground at her feet, armour crackling with yellow energy from the lock-up. Turning from her 'kill', Virginia took off again towards Blue base. "York, I've taken care of the sniper."

" **Great,** " the team captain had a grin embedded in his voice. " **I could use some help here, though.** "

"On my way," she confirmed, but her attention had strayed from her surroundings, and she crashed into an object with a solid object and crashed to the ground. A weapon cocking above her signalled who she had just ran into.

"Nice try, Virginia," Alaska chuckled as he aimed his DMR at her. "But I guess you lose."

Two blurs of red crashed into the taller agent though, and knocked him off balance. "Defeat the Blue Demons, Holy One!" one of the Red weirdos from earlier called to Virginia as he attacked Alaska with his bare hands, while his partner kicked at Alaska's shins angrily. "Carry the Glorious Red Flag to splendid victory!"

Without another word, she took off again for the Blue base again and slid along the wall.

She couldn't see York anywhere. Bullets and lasers were flying everywhere in the heat of battle, and bullet holes riddled the wall that she slid along. "York, come in. York!" Virginia hissed into the radio. Had something happened when he went to get the flag?

"Can I help you, miss?" a voice sounded behind her. Virginia jumped and whirled around. York stood with his arms folded, holding a tall flag in his hands. The blue fabric with the flying bird on it hung lazily against the metal of the pole.

"Let's get you out of here," Virginia said, nodding, acknowledging that he had the flag.

They took off together, Virginia switching out for the sniper rifle and taking out and ready for any obstacles in their path. Everyone seemed so caught up in the heat of battle that no one saw York and Virginia running towards the border. The adrenaline was pumping through Virginia so fast that everything seemed to become a blur.

One of the Blues screamed as they came to the last stretch of open ground, and loosed a shot at them. Virginia brought her Magnum around on instinct and shot the Blue once. Twice. Three times. Each round struck him in the chest, and he crashed to the ground before his armour had even completely locked down. York called back to her for some reason, and she followed him the last few feet…almost there…

"Yes!" York crowed as they crossed the border line, jumping into the air with the flag in his hand. The one Red soldier still standing gave a few claps at their victory. "Mission accomplished!" York offered a hand upraised, and it took Virginia a moment to realize that he was asking for a high-five. Grinning slightly, she slapped her palm against his.

"Too little, too late," a female voice spoke up behind a rock on the other side, and they turned around. Carolina leaned against a boulder, her arms crossed around the flag pole of the cobra-emblazoned Red flag. "It's those last few seconds that count there."

The hairs on the back of Virginia's neck stood up like hackles on a cat, and she glared at Carolina as the aqua-armoured soldier sauntered forward, tossing the Red flag into the dust at their feet.

"You've got a little something on your shoulder, Virginia," Carolina nodded at her. "It helps if they don't hit you." Virginia looked down to her upper arm. Blood had spattered on her shoulder from the Blue's bullet, which had grazed a space in her armour and grazed the skin. Virginia stared down at the wound for a moment. Her brain failed to register any pain, only annoyance.

"Better make sure that you don't have the same thing, Carolina," Virginia replied smoothly, reaching down and picking up the Red flag. "You never know when someone just might shoot you in the back.

"Is that a _threat_ , Agent Virginia?" Carolina growled, bringing herself way too close to Virginia, but she stood her ground.

"No, Carolina, just a warning. And hold onto that pedestal while you can," Virginia snarled in response, dragging the defeated Red flag in defeat along the ground and away from the victor. A few moments later, York jogged up to her and started walking in step.

"I'd be careful if I were you," York warned the fuming young woman. "You wouldn't want Carolina as your enemy."

"I'll keep that in mind the next time she starts talking down to me," Virginia replied angrily. Her wound had just started to throb. She took a deep inhale through her nose and an exhale through her mouth. Runaway emotions didn't help after the fact. "Agent Carolina won fair and square. Let's just get back to the base, check on Massa and Florida, and go home."

"You don't seem like you're too happy about the fact," York started to say, "but I don't want my head to get chewed off right now, so let's go with your idea."

"Thanks for not arguing," Virginia mumbled as her injured arm became more accustomed to the flag's weight behind her in the dust. "I wonder how everyone did."

"343-R, this is Agent York, radioing for pick-up," York called through the radio as the base came in sight. Massa stood out front, inspecting wounds on the Reds while waiting for Florida's armour to unlock.

" **Copy that, Agent York** ," the calm voice of their pilot responded, then paused and shifted to a more inquiring tone. " **Care to say how the mission went?** "

"It went fine, just not quite good enough," York replied in a guarded tone. "Why?"

Virginia zoned out, reflecting on the truth of his words. Not quite good enough indeed.


	14. Something To Watch

**Chapter Thirteen - Something to Watch**

**Agent Pennsylvania**

**Written by Jerem6401**

* * *

 " _I was never afraid of failure, for I would sooner fail than not be among the best."_ – John Keats

* * *

 The pelican's descent could be felt by everyone on-board as our guts dropped. I looked towards the solitary window at the back to see the blue sky give way to the crashing waves of an ocean. The entire ride to the battlefield had been filled with nothing but tension. No one spoke a single word, and I didn't dare look towards Alaska, and I assume he had a similar feeling. I wasn't going to let anyone outshine me in this training exercise. The mission was simple. Infiltrate the enemy base, and grab their flag. Capture the flag. Now the Director was literally having us play games with each other.

It wasn't as if we hadn't already shown him who the better team were. Yet here we are again, back in "Valhalla", having less than a day to recuperate after the last simulation mission. Back for a "rematch", the same teams taking part in a slightly different simulation. Not that it would change the outcome. The only thing that annoyed me was that nothing on that goddamn scoreboard had changed.

"Back door opening in 10 seconds!" our female pilot called. I looked towards the back of the pelican as I heard the rushing sound of it unsealing. It began to open and the light poured in.

"Let's go team!" Carolina ordered. Wyoming stood up and jumped behind her, his sniper rifle tucked securely in his hands. I looked up and got to my feet, which was exactly mirrored by Alaska's actions, who sat directly across from me. We stood for a moment, staring at one another as Carolina and Wyoming stepped off the pelican.

"I'll be watching," he said quietly.

"I'll give you something to watch," I replied. Alaska turned away, keeping his eyes on mine, before severing the contact and stepping off of the ship. I slowly followed, feeling the metal grating below me transform into dirt and sand. We were standing at a massive stone structure used as a base for a simulation blue team. Our job was to make our way across the valley in front of us, code-named "Valhalla" and capture the flag inside the other base. Several red simulation troopers were stationed at this base to defend it. We had been warned a countless number of times that they were using live ammunition, while our guns were just made to lock up their armour. I listened to the rules and played them over and over again in my head like a record… and nowhere in those guidelines did the Director say we weren't allowed to use lethal force.

"Penn, fall in!" Carolina called. I looked towards the others to see them standing in a tight group. Carolina was leaning on one knee, drawing into the dirt. Wyoming was scouting the area through his scope, and Alaska simply had his arms folded.

I walked closer as Carolina began making different lines towards a circle she had drawn, most likely to represent the enemy base."Here's the plan. Wyoming, you're going to set up on the rock overlooking the river, it should be high enough to give you a clear view to the enemy base."

"The hill in the centre of the valley will cut off my line of sight," he responded. "I won't be able to cover you until you are within reach of the flag."

"That's why on my order you are to move up to the centre hill," she replied. "I'm going right up the middle to clear a path for you. Understood?"

"Righto," he replied. She turned and pointed at Alaska, who seemed to have not moved an inch since we got off the pelican.

"Alaska, you're going to move up the right side," she ordered. "There's a large field there and I'm not sure what they could be hiding in it. Wyoming will relay you if he sees anything. Other than that, stick close to the river and hit the base from the right."

Alaska nodded and looked towards the river running by, which almost seemed to connect the two bases. Carolina finally looked at me. She was quiet for a moment and stood up to look me in the eye, even though she was much shorter than me. Carolina was really tense around me after my test on the training floor. I guess the sight of all the blood was a bit unnerving for her.

"Penn," she started, "you're going up the left side behind Wyoming's point. You're going to make your way through the caves. There's a point on the other side where we can meet up before you continue through the next cave and eventually reach the base. Then your job is to cover Alaska. He'll have the most cover after that point, so he's going in to grab the flag."

I looked towards Alaska. Was Carolina serious? She thought I was going to let him grab the flag? Not a chance in Hell.

"Penn? Are you listening?"

"Heard you loud and clear," I replied eventually. I looked away from Alaska and then towards the caves. Wyoming had already perched himself on the cliff and was scanning left and right. He looked towards us and made the OK symbol with his hands. It was time to move out. Alaska and I met eyes one more time, before turning and running our separate ways. I ran past Wyoming, stopping for a moment to check in.

"Everything look clear?" I asked him. He nodded and then looked towards the cave I was entering.

"Not sure about in there," he replied. "Could be a surprise waiting for you."

I pulled out my DMR and turned to the entrance. "Or I could be a surprise for them."

Wyoming chuckled a few times and looked back through his sniper rifle. "I almost feel sorry for them, Pennsylvania."

I walked towards the cave and looked into the darkness. I didn't turn on my light. Didn't want to give away my position. I began walking it, trying to keep a quick pace to stay ahead of Alaska. The cave was short and felt more like a tunnel than a cave.

 **"Tango down!"** Carolina called over the radio. I cringed a bit, thinking that would score her more points than me. **"Got another!"** she yelled again. I hurried my pace, heading for the exit, but still there was nothing in the cave. Nothing to gain me any points. Nothing to kill!

 **"Got one!"** Alaska called. I ground my teeth together. This wasn't fair! I had no enemies in front of me. I ran out of the cave and into the field. I saw Carolina in the middle, and Alaska making his way up the river. Behind Carolina were two simulation troopers. Their armour was completely locked and they were simply sprawled out on the ground, waiting to be taken away for their next session. Carolina looked at me and pointed towards the base, ordering me to move up.

She didn't have to tell me twice. I ran towards the next cave, fire burning inside of me. I was getting angry, angrier than I normally was. When I got to this cave, my own words were buzzing around in my head.

"I'll give you something to watch." I stepped into the cave and looked down at my DMR. I rotated it in my hands a few times, taking in its details, before dropping it to the ground.

It was just weighing me down.

As I continued into the cave, I could hear them, footsteps getting closer to me. A scout for the simulation troopers checking out the caves. He was just around the corner from me, his light casting onto the wall and moving up and down rhythmically with his footsteps. I knelt down and closed my eyes. I was still getting angrier and angrier. The thought of Alaska even thinking for a second he was better than me. This simulation trooper was going to be just another thing proving that wasn't true. I could feel him getting closer… I could smell the blood already.

"What the?!" he called out as he rounded the corner. I opened my eyes and leapt forward, smashing his weapon away from him. It flew around wildly, shining its light in all directions as it tumbled through the air. In the strobe of that light I raised my knee and jammed it into his stomach. Then I threw two punches, one into his chest, breaking one of the lights built into his armour. The second slammed into his helmet, smashing his visor into a spider-web of broken glass. I reached out and grabbed his throat. I lifted him off the ground with one arm and pressed his neck into the rock wall. I kept pushing and tightening my grip, still feeling myself getting furious. He grabbed my arm, desperately try to rip it away. The man was trying to scream… I could feel it, but nothing but a rasped whisper was escaping.

 **"Penn!"** Carolina called. **"Penn where are you? Report! We're about to send Alaska in to the base."** I bore my teeth at the thought of him. My sight blurred in anger as the simulation trooper in front of me flashed between his true form and a vision of Alaska, covered in his own blood. I finally pushed with all my might, feeling the trooper's throat collapse. The inside of his visor suddenly exploded with a massive stain of deep crimson. His body fell limp, and as I released my grip, collapsed in a heap in front of me. I took some deep breaths, looking down at my handiwork. This wasn't my kill… it was the Director's. He didn't see me as the weapon I am. He didn't realize what making this scoreboard had done to me.

Now he would have to see.

I put my hand up to my helmet and spoke into the radio.

"Target terminated," I said quietly. There was a silence before Carolina's voice broke out.

 **"Terminated?"** she asked. **"You mean taken down? Right, Penn?"**

 **"Sounds good to me,"** Alaska replied. **"I'm about to head in.** "

"Like hell you are!" I yelled back.

 **"Penn, no!"** Carolina screamed. **"This is Alaska's mission, not yours. They have defences set up and you don't have the cover that he does!"**

I didn't care. I needed this. I needed to show I was better. I ran for the exit of the cave and exploded into the light. The base was in front of me, with four enemies standing on top. One had a sniper rifle trained on me, while two others manned turrets that were turning to face me.

I froze for a moment when I saw the opposition, until the loud crack of a sniper rifle shot filled the air. I saw one of the soldiers on the turret freeze up as Wyoming took his first shot. Carolina began to light up the base as well, taking out another soldier armed with a DMR. The simulation sniper stayed focused and lined up his shot. I dove to one side as his first shot slammed into the ground next to me. He fired again, but I managed to roll to the left just before the trigger was pulled.

 **"Wyoming get that sniper!"** Carolina yelled. I turned to see if he was responding… which was a mistake. I slowed down for a single moment, and the sniper took his opportunity. He fired and hit me square in the chest, on the right side. I felt my armour explode in the front and the back as the bullet sailed clean through me. Another shot cracked through the air which tore through my right shoulder. I dropped forward, falling to my hands and knees in the river in front of me. Blood was tricking down my armour and creating bright patterns as it swirled downstream.

 **"Penn is hit!"** Carolina yelled. **"Repeat Penn is down! Alaska, complete the mission. I'm calling an evac!"** I fought the pain and lifted my hand to my helmet. The sniper was still reloading and it was like time was slowing down.

"Carolina," I growled, "if you do that to me… we'll be needing a new number one on that scoreboard!" There was a silence on the radio, and no one dared to make a call. Then her voice spoke back to me.

 **"Fine, Penn,"** she replied. **"This isn't because you intimidate me, because you don't. This is so maybe you'll learn some respect for authority."** I snickered a few times and looked up at the base. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Alaska making his way towards the base. I looked up, seeing the second turret getting in position to finish the job on me. **"Wyoming! Hit that turret!"**

"No!" I yelled. "He's mine!" I got to one knee and dug my back foot into the ground. I used all my anger, my fury, my pain, and drove myself into the air. I was above the man on the turret and came crashing down on top of him.

I put my hand around his visor as I slammed to the floor on top of the base. I smashed his head into the concrete and then quickly got to my feet. I ripped my arm sideways and threw the soldier clear over the edge of the base. He careened through the air and into a tree, shattering the trunk and sending splinters of wood in all directions.

I looked towards the sniper, who was the only remaining soldier at this point. He fiddled with his magazine as he tried to reload his weapon. I saw he was defenceless at this point and then looked down at the bullet wound in my chest. I looked back up at him and I could almost taste the fear. Believe me… I loved it.

"Wait… wait!" he yelled. I charged towards him and he lifted his rifle as a last defence. He crossed it in front of him like a shield. I threw a punch into the rifle, and I could feel my hand break through the barrel and all the inner workings of the weapon as my fist exploded through it. My punch hit him in the chest, sending him flying back into the concrete wall of the base. The two separate pieces of his rifle dropped to the floor next to him. I didn't hear them hit.

I couldn't hear anything.

The fury was filling me.

I hated everything. Everyone on my team, every one of these simulations troopers… that fucking scoreboard! I didn't realize I was walking closer to this soldier as he pressed himself further and further into the wall behind him while he looked for escape routes. He looked to my left and then made a run for it. As he passed I grabbed his helmet and pulled him back. I dropped to one knee and draped his back over my extended leg. I had one hand on his helmet and another on his hip as he bent backwards over my knee.

 **"Penn!"** Carolina yelled. **"That's enough! You can grab the flag! Just let the simulation trooper go! Lock up his armour, he'll be dealt with!"** I heard her over the radio… but it was like she was right next to me. I looked up and saw her standing on the hill outside the base, watching the entire situation. **"Director! Stop him! He's going to kill that sim trooper!"**

There was a silence in the air, and absolute stillness. I could feel the anticipation in Wyoming as he watching, the complete terror of the man draped over my leg… best of all… I could feel Alaska watching me. I don't know if it was the Director's voices responding… or a little voice in the back of my own mind that spoke to me right then. All I know is that in a deep dark tone it said…

"Do it."

I pressed down with all my might, hearing the man cry a bloodcurdling, gurgled scream as I folded his spine in half. I could feel each vertebrae shattering as I made the soldier's own feet pass by his head. I rolled him off my knee and dropped the now silent and still body to the floor. I stood back up and looked down the body. The pain of my wounds was starting to grow, and I couldn't tell if I liked it or not. I turned around and reached out my arm, firmly grasping the red flag in my hand. I ripped it out of its stand and held it into the air as it waved proudly in the wind.

 **"Mission successful,"** the Director spoke in our radios. **"Team B, you may proceed back to the Mother of Invention."**

That it was, the anger was starting to lift. I had done it… proved I wasn't just a solider… I was a force. I didn't care how… but all of these so-called "freelancers" would know what terror is… what it looks like… what it feels like! The blood loss started to kick in, and everything around me split into twos and fours. Suddenly my vision blurred to black and I couldn't hear anything at all. I collapsed onto the ground. Falling into a pool of blood left by that simulation trooper.

Looking back on it… I guarantee that I was smiling.

 


	15. The Price of Failure

**Chapter Fourteen – The Price of Failure**

**Agent Carolina**

**Written by ParabolaOfMystery**

* * *

 " _It's fine to celebrate success but it is more important to heed the lessons of failure."_ – Bill Gates

* * *

 They were all ready when the pelican landed. The hatch opened with a hiss of air, and as soon as the ramp hit the ground Carolina, Wyoming, and Alaska carried the limp Penn onto the ship. Alaska was especially silent; Carolina knew that if he had his way, he would've left Penn where he went down. She felt the same way. All she kept thinking of was the simulation trooper folding in half like some sort of bad horror flick.

"Jesus," 479er said as they carried him past her. "What happened to him?"

"Best you don't know," Carolina muttered.

The pilot clicked her tongue. "Well, just strap him in like normal. There's nowhere else to put him. They haven't given us any medical equipment yet. Probably because they didn't think we'd need it." Carolina didn't blame them. Why would the Director think that any of his Freelancers would get themselves shot on the first mission? It should've been so easy. Capture the flag. He honestly gave them the simplest task he could… yet still they managed to screw it up.

They were all silent during the flight. Wyoming had taken off his helmet and was leaning in his seat, twirling his moustache. Alaska was sitting straight up, staring at Penn, whose arms swayed limply in his seat. He seemed to mumbling to himself, but that was normal for Alaska. Carolina knew that what Penn did had to do something with Alaska. The two of them had been avoiding each other like the plague. She thought back to the scoreboard, and remembered that Alaska had been placed one slot above Penn.

 _Oh god. What is happening to us?_ It was just like the Director to push people against each other, to watch them climb over each other to the top. She knew firsthand- it was how she got here. Somehow she'd thought that it would be different here, with people working _together_ to accomplish something. No. It was all part of some plan the Director had.

It was like natural selection, almost. The best would climb to the top and survive. The weak would fall to the bottom and- die? Get thrown out of the project? She didn't know, and she didn't want to know. All she knew was that she was already at the top, and she had to stay there. She buried her face in her hands. What would happen when they were all consumed by the mentality that they had to be the best or die? They would be a team built of enemies. It would get worse and worse every time there was a new scoreboard.

479er's voice crackled in her ear. "Get your butts ready, guys. We're there. I already called a med team, so help get your buddy off my ship. I don't want any bloodstains. I just cleaned the floors."

As soon as they landed, the three Freelancers jumped out of their seats- Alaska quite reluctantly- to get Penn. Alaska undid the belt fastenings while Carolina and Wyoming each grabbed an arm and wrapped it around their shoulders. Penn grumbled something but Carolina couldn't make out what it was, although she could have sworn he'd mentioned Alaska.

The other Pelican landed as the med team wheeled Penn away. Carolina groaned. The other team had won, obviously. She wondered how many snide comments Virginia or Massa would make at her defeat. York jogged out of the Pelican, helmet under his arm and grinning wide, followed by Florida, who seemed more cheerful as usual. Carolina relaxed a bit. At least there would be two people who wouldn't be snarky or just plain miserable about the mission.

York's smile vanished when he spotted her. "What happened to you? Are you hurt?"

"What?" She looked down, and realized she was covered in Penn's blood. It stood out shockingly red against her light blue armour. "Oh, it's not mine. Penn's."

He spotted the stretcher being wheeled away. His eyes narrowed and he frowned. "Poor guy. I have to say, it was only a matter of time. Big guy's a little too violent."

Carolina scoffed bitterly. "A little?"

"Why, what happened?"

"You don't want to know."

York pouted. "Come on, I want juicy details!"

She grimaced and started toward the facility. "Bad adjective. Really bad adjective."

* * *

 "As you have been expecting, the scoreboard has been updated based on the last two missions." The Counselor's cool monotone voice echoed slightly around the room. None of the Freelancers paid much attention to him; everyone was staring at the blank scoreboard, waiting for their names to show up. Carolina could hear her pulse in her ears. She knew that she wasn't going to like it. She couldn't lead a failed mission without getting punishment for it, especially one where a teammate almost got killed.

York stood next to her, trying to look relaxed, but Carolina noticed his fingers were fidgeting. Alaska was muttering to himself again, Florida was bouncing on his toes, and Virginia was tapping her foot. Everyone seemed as anxious as she was.

The screen lit up. There was a collective intake of air as everyone searched for their names.

**1\. York**

**2\. Carolina**

**3\. Massachusetts**

**4\. Wyoming**

**5\. Virginia**

**6\. Florida**

**7\. Alaska**

**8\. Pennsylvania**

Heat rushed to Carolina's face. She felt Massachusetts staring at her smugly. Second. She deserved it. She failed a mission. It could have been worse. Now she just had to climb her way back up… over York. She glanced at him. He stared silently at the board, eyebrows furrowed. It seemed like he wasn't sure whether to celebrate or be worried. _Celebrate while you can_ , Carolina thought. She felt empty. She wasn't sure why. She'd expected to be angry, or miserable, but she found she was determined instead. She would beat all of them next time.

Meanwhile, Alaska was fuming. "How am I seventh? I did what I was supposed to. I did my job!"

"But we lost," Carolina said. "Badly. It was bound to bring all of us down."

His cold eyes turned to her. "Really? It didn't bring you down that much."

She felt her temper rising. It was surprising it had stayed down this long. "Maybe I was that much higher up to begin with." Alaska didn't answer. She felt his eyes on her even when she turned away.

The others began to file out. Wyoming left, followed by Virginia, who had a smug smile on her face. Not surprising, considering she had gone up in rank. Carolina doubted that it was because of improvement. She'd only gone up because the others did much worse. Massa followed her, ramming into Carolina's shoulder as she went.

"Better watch your back," Massa snipped in her ear.

"In your dreams," Carolina whispered back. She heard York snigger next to her, and felt herself smile a little.

Florida cocked his head at the board. He didn't seem overly upset. "More room for improvement," he said cheerfully.

Then it was just her, York, and Alaska left. Alaska had gone back to staring at the board. Carolina felt kind of bad for him. He'd been dragged down from the mission worst out of everyone. It wasn't really his fault either, but Carolina could almost see why he'd been brought down. His anger was going to motivate him even more, make him more aggressive. As long as he didn't go down Penn's path, he could be one of the strongest Freelancers there.

York tapped her arm. "Sorry you're second," he said quietly.

Carolina shrugged him off. "It's fine." _He's competition. You should treat him like it._ "I deserved it."

"Not really. It was Penn's fault. I'm sure if he didn't go all crazy, you guys would have had a good mission."

"Maybe. But I was leader. I should have done something to stop him."

"You tried," Alaska said bitterly from behind them. Carolina frowned. Why was he suddenly sticking up for her? Just a second ago he was against her. Then again, Alaska was a weird guy. "I heard you. That guy's just batshit-crazy."

York chuckled. "Very true." He took one last glance at the scoreboard and sighed. "Might as well enjoy the sight of my name up there while I still can." He smiled at Carolina. "Who knows? I might be kicked off next time by someone."

"I hope you mean me," Alaska muttered.

 


	16. Healing Hands

**Chapter Fifteen – Healing Hands**

**Killian Jay – Private First Class, Medic**

**Written by Casaric**

* * *

 " _Any idiot can face a crisis- it's a day to day living that wears you out."_ – Anton Chekhov

* * *

 The workplace of Killian Jay is...rather boring actually. The walls and floor are grey and undecorated. The equipment that lines the walls may have some flashy lights and buttons on it, but the noise they make is really irritating. And, for reasons beyond Killian's comprehension, the lights were _always_ dimmed. Not the best place to catch up on your reading.

Then again, it's not like you'd be there to read in the first place. It is medical wing. People go to the medical wing because they're hurt. If you're Killian, people go the Medical wing because they're stupid. Because really, why would you stick that up your nose? Killian's never slapped a patient before, but he's come close...

It's not that Killian dislikes his job, he just dislikes people...well, the majority of people. This is because the majority of people are mentally retarded and stick scissors up their noses. Or their just assholes who give him triple-overtime because they want a day off. He's not very fond of those types of people either.

So, as Killian worked _alone_ on a patient, an Agent Pennsylvania who was barely stable, at six in the morning, in a cramped operating room lined with machinery that made annoying noises, his mood was less than exemplary. ...Hell, it down-right sucked.

"Jesus dude, the hell did you piss off? A god-damn bomb?" Killian said exasperatedly as his suit performed a scan of his patient's wounds, sending images to the monitor above the operating table. It showed a lot of shrapnel fragments, places where the bullets had struck bone, and others where they had just passed clean on through. "...Fuck, it might as well been a bomb with the amount of shrapnel you have lodged in there..." Killian muttered, scanning the images for a brief moment, before turning back to his patient, glancing at the man's heart monitor. It was stable, but it would undoubtedly start to spas out once Killian started to root around in his chest.

"Well, time to get to work..." Killian sighed, shaking his head as he activated his med-suit's medical functions, working to keep the Pennsylvania's heart-rate stable as he undid the bandages around his torso.

It was grisly sight. The guys down in the ER had done an on-the-spot patch job using some heavy-duty biofoam, but had left all of the shrapnel and bullets inside. Internal bleeding had caused the freelancer's chest to swell up a good couple inches, and turn a disgusting purple colour, accompanied by some ugly scars by the botched biofoam job.

It would make a lesser man want to hurl... Killian was the lesser man. Swallowing back the rising bile with a shudder that left a horrid taste in his mouth, Killian steeled himself for what was to come, a compact laser-cutter coming to life at the end of his pointer-finger.

One cut was all it took, and out came buckets of blood from the swollen chest. This is where Killian had to act, and act fast. He used his suit's augmentations to slow down the man's heart-rate just enough to stop him from pumping all of his blood out of the newly-made hole in his chest, while simultaneously manoeuvring a small hose into the incision and connecting the other end to a pump, letting the machine suck out all of the blood that had gathered in his patient's torso.

After a few seconds, he removed the hose and pulled out a Verzes shot, shaking it up to make sure the chemicals were well blended before injecting it into the freelancer via arm, helping to staunch the bleeding.

"Why do I get all the hard jobs?" Killian asked himself with a sigh, grabbing a pair of capillaries off of his tool tray, before turning back to face the freelancer. He opened up the incision he made earlier, easing in the capillaries, as his med-suit sent him a live-feed of the capillaries progress through Pennsylvania's chest cavity, removing shrapnel and the occasional bullet as it went.

Half an hour later and the last piece of shrapnel had finally been removed, landing with a clatter on a tray with over forty blood-covered pieces like it.

"...I fucking hate you..." Killian told his patient flatly, falling back into his surgeon's chair with a heavy thud. It had been half an hour since he started rooting around in the freelancer's chest with the capillaries, and Killian's give-a-shit levels had hit zero around three am. It was now seven-thirty.

"You know, I could be asleep right now. Having a really awesome dream with flying whales and laser-shooting dinosaurs. But you had to be an asshole and go and get yourself shot, didn't ya?" Killian said, glaring up at the ceiling.

A minute or so passed, and Killian sighed, forcing himself out of the surgeon's chair. "Whatever, we're almost done anyway..."

Killian walked back to Pennsylvania, activating another one of his suit's augmentations, watching as a high-grade biofoam enveloped his patient's chest cavity, healing the man's muscle tissue, repairing the sinews and fibres of his damaged organs, and knitting the skin back together all in a matter of minutes.

"...God-damn, only took me, what, twelve hours? ...Fuck..." Killian sighed, falling back down into his chair again. He stayed like that for another couple of minutes, basking in another job-well done. "I better be getting paid triple-overtime for this shit..." he muttered, standing up, stretching his sore muscles, and making his way out of the operating room.

As he walked out of the small, cramped, and now, to an extent, blood-covered room, he was met with the sight of one of the medical wings many nurses waiting for him in the hallway leading to the lobby.

"Killian Jay?" The man asked.

 _"Yeah?"_ He really was too tired for this shit.

"You have visitor waiting for you in the lobby." The nurse replied, leaning up against the wall.

"Name?"

"Massachusetts."

"Ah. So he-"

"She."

"...Right. So _she_ must be one of those Freelancer's then."

"Yep."

"...Okay. Thanks Tod." Killian said sleepily, waving back at the nurse, whose name was apparently Tod, as he walked down the hall to the lobby. "...Ah...good ol' Tod."

The lobby was a bit of sight. It was as if they had a lot of leftover space when they were done building the medical wing and decided to start moving chairs in there to make it look less empty. Because, really, that's all it is. A big room with a lot of chairs. The room also sports an Agent Massachusetts, complete with cappuccino maker and cup-holder.

The agent was sitting in one of the chairs that littered the room, armour forgone in favour of black track pants and a dark green "Freelancer" T-shirt, clothes more suitable for waiting for who-knows-how-long, just to hear: _"Sorry, yeah...he's dead...have a tissue."_

Killian took a second glance at her shirt, his face quizzical beneath his visor. _'Wait a second...they sell those here?'_

He shook away the thought. _'Come-on Killian, at least retain some of your sanity...It's not that late,'_ and replaced it with another.

"...Agent Massachusetts?" Killian called out across the grey chair-filled room.

She turned her head to meet his visor, but didn't say anything. She had bags underneath her bloodshot eyes, and her eye lids dropped dangerously low.

"...Your friend's gonna make it. Give him a couple of days and he'll be back up to ass kicking status. There were some close calls, sure, but he's fine now," Killian stopped to yawn. "Cause I'm the best medic ever." "

Massachusetts nodded sleepily in reply. "...Can I-"

"See him?" Killian cut her off.

She nodded in reply.

"...No. Not tonight. He still needs time for his wounds to heal properly."

"Right..." she replied, looking a little dejected.

"Tomorrow...probably...Now do yourself a favour and go get some sleep." Killian said as he directed her out of the waiting room, and into the hallway beyond.

Killian had finally made it back to his room, and to his nice soft bed that promised him wonderful dreams and, more importantly, no cramped operating rooms. Or, it would've, if Killian hadn't have glanced at his alarm clock. It was 9:45 A.M. The workday started in fifteen minutes.

"...I fucking _hate_ overtime."

 


	17. Front-Row Seats

**Chapter Sixteen - Front-Row Seats**

**Pilot Four Seven Niner**

**Written by LanaLlama**

* * *

" _Flying might not be all plain sailing, but the fun of it is worth the price." –_ Amelia Earhart

* * *

"Aw, come on! How did you beat me!?" A bark of laughter followed this statement as one pilot joined the other.

"I'm just amazing," Niner teased, bearing a smirk. A tray clattered to the table in the empty space opposite her, apple bouncing across the table. Flicking it back over, Niner shook her head and added. "Nah, we had wounded, I needed to get back ASAP," she followed this up with a roll of the eyes.

"Already!?" asked a voice two seats away, disbelief evident, "Aren't these guys supposed to be the best or something?"

The cacophony of voices that took up the mess hall went on, ignoring their conversation in favour of their own, presumably, being more interesting. A lot of it was likely bitching about this or that; the number of hours spent patrolling, the frequency of breaks, whatever it was that had irked many of the Mother of Invention's staff that day.

A scoff from the female pilot was the initial response, "They sure didn't act like it. The morons couldn't even grab a flag from sim troopers."

"How bad was the injury?" 343-R queried, stabbing at his measly meal.

"Eh, few bullets, it didn't seem bad to me." Her eyes snapped into a glare as she looked up and caught other eyes on her own food.

"No way! You snooze you lose." In a rather gloating manner Niner bit into her slice of pizza, stretching the cheese out tantalisingly in front of 343-R. Subconsciously her free hand brought the plate with the other slices closer so that she could protect them. The male pilot attempted something of a pout towards the other.

"There was nothing there but this dumb, lemon chicken though." If he didn't want to hold onto some dignity the guy would have whined over at her.

"Should have been as awesome as me then."

343-R could only roll his eyes in response and moodily stab at his less likable food. Spearing a piece onto his fork he looked up to Niner again and queried "So, which agent was it?"

He tugged the chicken from the fork with his teeth and watched Niner whilst chewing. The male pilot seemed rather interested by the whole situation.

"Uhh," she swallowed her food and glanced up and down the table to note that there were others paying attention to their conversation now. "Pennsylvania, I think."

Her eyes moved upwards as she checked her memory. "Yeah. Pennsylvania."

A man a few seats away from Niner leaned in towards the group and propped his elbows on the table, "If you ask me –"

"Which no one did."

"If you ask me, the whole lot of them are mad, nuts, insane, completely bonkers," the man continued on, completely ignoring the random voice that had interjected. He swept a hand through his lengthy brown hair and positioned himself to be in view of the whole table.

"Give it a rest Kyle," one man groaned, weakly throwing a napkin at the other.

"Seriously, have you heard about what they're going to be doing?" he continued regardless, after pinching the dry paper and pulling a face at it.

343-R laughed, deciding to humour the guy that looked between them all with wide eyes. "What're they going to do?" he asked in a borderline patronising tone.

"Isn't working for this Director guy madness itself?" a blonde female next to the brunette crew member asked, flicking a crumb off of her white lab coat. Niner sent a glance over to her fellow pilot, one asking just what their fellow staff members were taking today.

"Oh great," she muttered under her breath. "Beth thinks we're all mad." 343-R snorted in something of an agreement.

She wasn't interested in any more of this, Niner just wanted to be left in peace with her pizza and get back to her ship; the wonderful, beautiful ship that she got to pilot daily. To her, it looked like 343-R was in the same mind-set and so, begrudgingly, she picked up her final two slices of pizza and snatched at 343-R's wrist when he raised his hand to bid her farewell.

"I think we're done here," she commented, passing one slice to the male pilot as they made a beeline for the exit; after some protesting from 343-R. "Oh come on, there is no way you're going to be able to deal with that." 343-R shook his head and looked up at the slightly taller woman.

"What? We never have any stories to share down in the hangar; I wanted to hear something new for once," he said, in an attempt to defend the researchers that they had sat with moments ago, only to receive something of a glare from Niner.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Uh…" 343-R shrank away slightly, the glare he was receiving was slightly concerning, and all he could do to respond, for a moment, was nibble on the pizza she had handed him.

"We get to see it all. We get all the action without actually being in the action."

"Most of the time."

"Yeah, whatever. Do you realize how many fights we're going to see?"

She seemed rather excited by the whole prospect, and 343-R could only watch as Niner continued to explain why their job was better.

"It scares me to know that this is what excites you." And that was the end of their conversation for a brief moment. The two ended up walking companionably down the last hall, and just as the doors entered their view, Niner glanced towards 343 once more.

"Trust me," She took a bite into her slice, savouring the food's flavour. "Beth and her conspiracy theories are not lunch table conversations that you want to get into. I've had the pleasure of being dragged in before; took me almost an hour to get away."

They had begun to stroll through the quiet halls, footsteps and their echoing voices the only sounds for a moment. The journey back to the hangar was going to be a short one, but that was fine with Niner, she didn't have enough pizza to last a long journey anyway.

"Guess I owe you for saving me then?" 343-R gave her a small nudge, smirking over at his fellow pilot. "And for the pizza," he added as an afterthought; chewing on the crust.

"Damn right you do."

* * *

**The Director**

**Written by NicKenny**

* * *

" _Men are like steel. When they lose their temper, they lose their worth."_ – Chuck Norris

* * *

I sat by my next, reviewing videos of the two simulation missions over and over, looking for both moments of ingenuity and of stupidity. On the first mission, I constantly re-watch Virginia taking out Wyoming, Alaska being tackled to the ground by two sim troopers, watch York hold the line with his small army of simulation troopers, holding out against Agents Pennsylvania and Alaska, eventually breaking free from the fire-fight and retrieving the Blue flag. At the same time, I follow Carolina sneaking past York's perimeter, slipping past Massachusetts' guard, eliminating Agent Florida and retrieving the Red flag, beating York and Virginia back to the centre of the battlefield.

And that was the less eventful of the two missions. Their second trip to Valhalla had proved to be far more…troublesome. Pennsylvania had been hit twice by a sniper after intentionally disobeying orders and going for the flag by himself, which had resulted in him being placed at the bottom of the leaderboard, something that he would not appreciate when he finally comes to.

At the moment though he was lucky to be alive. The medics had only managed to stabilise him a few hours ago. One of the bullets had punctured his lung, while another had severed an artery. He would be out of action for a while at least, which frustrated me greatly. No one should have been injured on those missions, and Pennsylvania would have been fine if he had just obeyed orders. Indeed, in giving up his position and brutally attacking the simulation troopers, Penn had given up several precious seconds in which the other team had managed to seize their own flag.

Agent Pennsylvania's inability to obey orders had cost his team the mission.

His decorum on the battlefield was also…concerning. I knew his record when I offered him a place in Project Freelancer, but I had hoped he would be able to keep his anger in check. It appears that my hopes were in vain. While I wasn't particularly concerned about the two dead simulation troopers, or the injuries that the others who had come across his path, his refusal to obey the orders of his team leader was…problematic.

I quickly reviewed my own notes on the other agents' performances. Carolina, as always, performed exceptionally, barring her failure to keep Penn in check. York had surprised me, demonstrating leadership qualities that I had not believed him to have. Massachusetts had performed solidly on both missions, and, other than letting Carolina slip past her to capture the flag, I couldn't find fault in her performance. Virginia had finally showed me something worth noticing, earning her the increase in rank, and I believe my little talk with her had encouraged her to finally start becoming the asset that I know she could be.

Florida had performed well, but was taken out by Carolina on his first mission, so his increase up the leaderboard was less impressive than his teammates'. Wyoming however, had dropped in place, losing a fire-fight to Virginia, then failing to take out the simulation sniper that had injured Pennsylvania. Alaska, too, had dropped, allowing sim troopers to surprise him during the first mission, then being prevented from taking the flag by Pennsylvania during the rematch. I could feel the anger emanating off of him when the rankings had appeared, but wasn't particularly concerned. Whatever Alaska's past history, he was always in control of his emotions, unlike our wounded agent, who let his emotions control his actions.

The doors behind me suddenly burst open, and the Counselor strode in, his face flushed in anger.

"The Counselor wishes to see you, Director." F.I.L.S.S. chimed in, too late.

"I can see that F.I.L.S.S." I replied, my eyes locked on the nearing form of the Counselor, who was waving his data-pad with a look on intent fury.

"Counselor, I was not informed of your arrival," I said, smiling warmly despite the glare that I received, making a mental note to find out exactly why I wasn't informed of his arrival. "I trust your findings on Eris were satisfactory?"

The Counselor waved my question away irritably with a brief hand motion. "My findings on Eris were more than satisfactory, but we both know that that's not what I'm here to discuss."

He was trembling, I noticed with a hint of amusement, barely able to restrain the anger that was no doubt coursing through him. His face, however, remained as impassive as always, and gave no indication as to what thoughts were currently coursing through his head.

"I am referring to Agent Pennsylvania's current condition," he said, his voice wavering slightly before suddenly taking on a harsher tone. "You assured me that nothing would go wrong during this simulation mission. I am worried as to what exactly you consider 'going wrong' Director."

I frowned. "I am afraid that I do not approve of your tone, Counselor. Agent Pennsylvania disobeyed a direct order on the battlefield and, as a result, was punished for his disobedience. Thankfully the medics have stabilised him and are confident that he will make a full recovery."

The Counselor snorted, dismissing my words with a snap of his wrist. "Be that as it may, we're still looking at two dead simulation troopers, and several others with serious injuries. Agent Pennsylvania is simply too uncontrollable, Director. He is a liability to this project, and I must insist on his immediate discharge."

"Agent Pennsylvania has regained consciousness, Director." F.I.L.S.S. murmured, interrupting our argument, stopping us in our tracks.

I glanced at the Counselor, shaking my head wearily. "Counselor, leave Penn to me. If I can't come up with conclusive evidence that he can assimilate into the Project, and continue to serve as a valuable asset, then you can see about discharging him."

He appeared to consider this for a moment, before reluctantly nodding, conceding to my demand. "Very well then, Director. But this evidence will have to be considerably more conclusive than the empty promises that you have made so far."

I stand up and brush past him. "Believe me, Counselor, he will listen to me. For him, being second-best is not an option. He will listen to reason."

* * *

Pennsylvania had been propped up on his bed by one of the medics when I walked into the room. He blinked a couple of times, clearly surprised to see me, but said nothing as I ordered the medics out of the room.

I sat on the chair adjacent to his bed and stared at him in silence for a few minutes, sensing his discomfort caused by my presence.

"What ever will we do with you, Agent Pennsylvania?" I murmured, noticing him flinch slightly at the sound of my voice.

"Sir?" he asked, hesitantly, calmly meeting my gaze.

I continue to sit there, just staring at him, carefully picking out my next words. "You need to control your rage, Penn. The way you are now, allowing your emotions to dictate the course of your actions, makes you more of a liability than an asset to Project Freelancer. And you know what happens to liabilities."

Penn's face hardened at this and he glanced up at me, anger in his eyes. "I completed the mission, sir," he spat out, hands clenching into fists.

I nod slowly, not taking my eyes away from his. "That is true, agent. But your actions cost your team precious seconds, in which Agent York seized the flag for his team, earning them the victory. Your actions cost your team the victory, and you're position in this project has suffered as a result."

He tensed, shaking slightly, and inclined his head, glumly accepting the truth to my words. "I understand, sir."

I leant forward and placed a reassuring hand on the wounded agent's shoulder. "A great man once said 'We shall listen, not lecture; learn, not threaten. We will enhance our safety by earning the respect of others and showing respect for them.'"

I paused, allowing my words to sink in. "I brought you into this project, Pennsylvania, because I saw potential in you. I saw the man you could become, if you could learn to control your emotions, rather than letting them control you. You could be a leader, Penn. But first, you need to learn how to obey orders. I need to know I can trust you, Penn."

I stood up slowly and walked to the door, stopping at the threshold and turning back to him. "I believe in you, agent. I'm the first and only person who ever will."

I left him lying there, his eyes wide and troubled, with three final words.

"Make me proud."


	18. Unwanted Advice

**Chapter Seventeen – Unwanted Advice**

**Agent Massachusetts**

**Written by Ayane458**

* * *

" _Verily, a man without fear is either dead or happy to die."―_ Wayne Gerard Trotman, 'Veterans of the Psychic Wars'

* * *

Massa, being a medic and having had all possible routes to the recovery bay hammered into her skull, led the way through the halls with Florida and York close behind. Florida was, as usual, cheerful to the point of slight creepiness. Even though Massa _knew_ the guy was capable of kicking butt, she still found it hard to believe with his attitude.

York, on the other hand, was laid-back as usual, only a hint of nervousness there. _Understandable_ , Massa thought. If there was one thing Penn had established about himself, it was that he did not take losing with grace. He probably wouldn't be too happy to see the winners around. If he was awake this time round, which he should be.

But surely he couldn't take a concerned visit to the Recovery Bay so harshly, right…?

Well, Massa could hope. She had no desire to make an enemy so early on, especially one who was supposed to be on her side. It was true that, in her old company, there had been some real… _characters_ , and that was a part of the reason she was here. In such a small group, however, she wanted everyone to at least not hate each other. Of course, considering the growing hostility between Carolina and Virginia, the thinly veiled contempt that Penn held for them all, particularly Alaska, and the way all of these relationships were shaping up so fast… hope was really all she could do.

The lecture she planned on giving him probably wouldn't win her any points, either. Word had spread pretty quickly about what exactly had gone down during Team B's mission, mainly from Wyoming. While Massa didn't exactly _trust_ the man, most of what he'd said had been corroborated by Alaska. Who she at least trusted not to lie for no reason.

"Oh, by the way," York said suddenly, causing Massa to stumble and Florida to hum curiously, "I was thinking about having a sort of victory party later on. What do you two think?"

"I think it sounds great, York," Florida declared. "A real bonding experience."

York looked to Massa for a second opinion.

"I agree," she shrugged. There was, however, something on her mind. "How on earth –can I still say that here? –are you going to get supplies for a _party_?"

York frowned at this, but they arrived at the Recovery Bay's door before he could continue. Someone was already outside.

Carolina glared at the door as if it had personally offended her, deep in some mental debate about whether she should enter or not. Through the window, Massa could see Penn gazing away from them, towards a couple of medics. It was probably best to go in before he started demanding to be released…

"Hey, Carolina!" York called eagerly. Carolina wasn't as easily surprised as Massa, and just looked up at him with a vaguely affectionate look. As far as Massa could tell, this indicated that she was head over heels in love with the guy already. If her guess was right, the feeling was–

"I'm sorry about how your team went, but you were still amazing, so I guess it didn't really effect you much. I mean, I'm sure you'd have won if…"

-wholeheartedly reciprocated.

"So, we're all visiting Pennsylvania, huh?" Florida asked, interrupting York's awkward rambling.

"I suppose so," Carolina replied. "I figured I should, since I _was_ team leader. He got injured on my watch." Despite her words, Massa did feel a bit of suspicion towards her intentions. Did she really care her teammate got injured under her command? Or was she just upset this could look bad on her record?

Looking at Carolina's facial expression, Massa figured it was at least _mostly_ the former.

"We just wanted to wish him a get well soon!" Florida declared. Carolina nodded curtly, before opening the door and leading them in. Their presence had apparently taken away any apprehension on her part.

Penn's eyes snapped to them as soon as the door opened, and his scowl grew far more pronounced. He projected an air of hostility that could be felt throughout the room, making the nearby medics shift uncomfortably. Only Florida seemed unaffected, and Massa was willing to bet that was because he chose to ignore Penn's aggression rather than actually being ignorant of it.

Massa, electing to allow York, Florida and Carolina to handle Penn's initial response to their arrival, walked over to the medics, giving Penn a quick, unreturned smile as she walked by. The air of hostility felt as if it were turning to one of murder frenzy, but that might've just been her new proximity to the guy.

"Hey, guys," she greeted. She knew the two medics vaguely, having been introduced to them when the Counsellor was explaining what would be expected of her around the ship and on missions because of her medical training. Their names were Brown, a timid man of small stature, and Clarkson, a lovely blonde woman with a strong New Zealand accent.

"Good morning, Massa," Clarkson replied as cheerily as she could, while Brown murmured something to that effect. "Back again to see him?"

"Wondering how the patient is," Massa replied. While she was concerned about Penn, she sort of wanted to minimise her association with him around people who were so clearly uncomfortable with him around.

Brown noticeably paled at the words and Clarkson's smile became more strained. It seemed that Penn had made an impression.

"Well, his shoulder wound has been healed almost completely," Clarkson said, still trying to stay happy. The woman acted like scowling was a crime. "His chest wound is a little more serious, but he should be fine soon enough." Here, her smile faltered some more. "I don't want him out of here just yet because… well, he needs to relax a bit to ensure it heals well."

Meaning she didn't trust him not to run straight into the gym and destroy a few punching bags, whether those punching bags be inanimate or unfortunate passers-by.

Apparently Penn really had intimidated the medics. Being the biggest guy on the team, he wouldn't have to do much to achieve that effect. Sitting and staring silently would probably work well enough.

"I'll talk to him," Massa promised, leading Brown to heave a rather obvious sigh of relief.

"Thanks," Clarkson replied, grasping Brown's arm and leading him away towards the corner of the room and as far from Penn as was possible.

Massa raised an eyebrow at this before turning on her heel to join the others.

York seemed to be carrying an awkward conversation while Florida occasionally piped in, either ignorant of or ignoring the uncomfortable atmosphere. Carolina, for once, seemed to be leaving everything to York. Penn silently scowled at whoever was talking at that moment.

Massa arrived, smiling defiantly at Penn's scowl and addressing him directly.

"The docs say you can leave about now," Massa told him. No reaction to this news. "Put too much strain on your injuries and you'll be right back in here, though."

"Dude, that's great!" York yelled, apparently reacting for Penn. "We should so have a party for that!"

Massa and Florida shared a look while Carolina seemed a little lost. Penn seemed very indifferent, although Massa noted that his hands were slowly clenching into fists.

"Anyway," Massa continued in an attempt to distract Penn from York, "if you agree to stay out of training and missions for a few days, you can leave."

"…Fine," Penn muttered. At this point, Carolina was steadily edging towards the door with York closely following. Florida, seeming to think everyone was leaving or just wanting to take this opportunity to leave, followed after them with no attempts at stealth, earning him an exasperated glare from Carolina.

Massa took a closer look at Penn's injuries as the others walked away. He had been lucky. The shots had both missed anything too important.

"You should be more careful," Massa said, not entirely sure what response she was expecting.

Penn looked at her. He had been cheerier when he hadn't been injured. And not kicked down to the bottom of the board. Oh God, had he seen that?

"It was a fluke." His tone stated that any continued conversation wouldn't be welcome.

Against her better judgement, Massa pressed on. If Penn's MO was always going to be about proving that he was the best, he could end up being more of a danger to them all than an asset to anyone. She'd already seen the damage arrogant bastards could do. That wasn't going to be repeated on her watch.

"Nobody's going to be impressed with you bleeding dry in the middle of a mission because you're too damn stubborn to recognise your limits." His lip twitched downwards and she tried to figure how much she could get off without some serious backlash. "I'm here to patch people up. So are they," she nodded in the direction of Brown and Clarkson, neither of whom were happy to be drawn attention to. "But there's only so much we can do."

Massa was about to back off, when a hand gripped her arm with painful strength. Penn had stood with surprising speed. She looked up –not an easy task, with his height –and their eyes met.

Jesus. She'd pushed him too far, she could tell. Was he really going to hurt her, though? Surely he'd know there'd be consequences. Cold fear began to creep its way through her body as she realised that she sure as hell couldn't take him hand-to-hand. Her eyes flicked away, trying to subtly seek out any potential weapons… in that drawer were some scalpels. There were some syringes stashed there, and some pretty heavy sedatives within those cabinets. If she could get him down, she'd have time to grab a syringe and fill it with sedative… scalpel would buy her time…

His grip on her arm tightened, drawing a grimace of pain from her and forcing their eyes to meet again. He opened his mouth to speak.

York ran back into the room before he could get a word out.

"Hey, Massa, you aren't going to believe what just happened!" York huffed. The excitement in his eyes faded as he stared at the two of them. "What's going on?"

Penn shoved Massa's arm back at her, forcing her to stumble back a step. Massa looked at him fearfully. "Nothing," he growled, moving back to his bed and glaring at Massa.

She breathed deeply for a moment, before turning back to York, grinning wide enough to potentially damage her muscles and completely ignoring the fact that she had been planning the best way to pump Penn full of sedatives a moment ago. "You were saying?" she prompted York.

York, catching her drift, continued a bit more warily. "Alaska and Florida got into this _huge_ fight. They're going to have a match down in the training room. We're all going to watch, so…" he trailed off, giving his invitation while not entirely sure how far it extended. Massa immediately zeroed in on the participants.

"Florida and Alaska, huh?" Florida had always been cheery to the point of idiocy. But with this new information, maybe her theory about him obfuscating stupidity was right. As for Alaska… well, he was a bit of a wildcard, so who knew? Maybe this was normal for him.

"Yeah, I know," York nodded, his previous enthusiasm returning. "Want to go?"

"Yeah, let's!" Massa urged. She moved to leave with York, hesitating at the door.

She turned back to Penn. "Coming?"

Penn nodded once. It wasn't a particularly rude gesture, but something about him made Massa sure they weren't going to get along around here.

 _His loss_ , Massa decided. _You can't please 'em all._


	19. Face Off

**Chapter Eighteen – Face Off**

**Agent Florida**

**Written by OhSoDeadly**

* * *

" _I punched it in the nose. Now we're friends."_ – Harry Dresden, _Turn Coat_

* * *

Well now. If Florida had seen a more topsy-turvy day in his life then he was a muttonhead! He'd always been a big believer in starting the day off right, usually with useful little things that were the key to being right as rain. Such as getting up a little earlier than you planned, a little jog, a little coffee with his paper. All the way from being a young man working at the post office, to a family man trying to juggle a household full of rambunctious rugrats, that was his routine, and it suited him to a T, yessiree bob!

But facts were facts, and there were some facts here that were none too pleasant. And here they were, laid out like a chorus line full of naughty schoolchildren. For one, poor ol' Penn had wound up in the infirmary. For two, Carolina and York were having a bit of a tizzy for whatever reason, probably because of that Team A/Team B stuff that had happened on Eris. And for three...

He turned around from his spot outside Penn's ward, and gazed at the armour-clad figure standing outside the medbay doors, arguing with some technicians about something. He couldn't help but frown upon seeing him. Alaska was his roommate, and he hated judging people about as much as he hated cold spaghetti on toast, but by gum, he was a hard man to like! Arrogant, overconfident, and as of now, somebody who got one of his team lying hurt in a nasty ol' hospital bed. Not to mention that silly armour colour. Why gosh, it looked as if someone had gone and dunked the fella in a vat of ketchup! Not that he was going to say as much, though. Right beside judgin' folks before he got to know them properly was saying nasty things behind someone's back, oh yes.

Mind you, he'd been pretty forthright when it came to criticising Florida straight to his face. All because he thought the Project's ranking system didn't necessarily mean they had to become all nasty to each other. But he'd shrugged that off pretty easily. Grudges weren't worth a tinker's dam!

He didn't look to be getting in anytime soon, though, so he went back to staring through the glass window at Penn and Massachusetts, his eyes misting up slightly. The big fella probably wouldn't appreciate that sorta gesture-after all, he was a hard-as-nails man, and big as a house besides!-but right now, he wouldn't know about it. He'd been through the wringer, so what was a little kindness here or there? Though kindness was probably the last thing on Penn's mind when he started the day.

Sighing, he rapped the window gently with his knuckles, but Massachusetts and Penn were too deep in conversation to notice. "There there, old buddy," he murmured. "Have you up and about lickety-split. We've got some real good docs on this ship, bet your bottom dollar on that-"

"Are you a praying man, Florida?"

He looked up, and just managed to stop his face from pulling into a scowl. Alaska had clearly failed to get past the ornery technicians and was now standing a few feet away from Florida, a lazy smile on his face. _A lazy smile is never a good sign_ , his pa had used to tell him, _'cause it's like that the man who's wearing it ain't much better._ All through life, he'd found that to be true. Except for Agent New York, who talked a good game (that little stunt with bribing the soldiers being a fine example) but was an otherwise nice young man.

Speaking of being nice, Alaska had gone and asked him a question, so he cleared his throat. "Beg your pardon, Al?"

Still that lousy smile. "I said, are you a praying man?"

That was a darn personal question, gosh! Back on Arcadia, religion was a touchy subject and nobody was keen to start a fight over it. But then again, he reminded himself, this was the wide, wide galaxy, and others had different ways to his. He'd have to remember that, most definitely. So he answered nonchalantly, "Not as much as I used to be. But sometimes every now and then. Why do you-"

"It just seems to me, "Alaska said smoothly, stepping closer and rudely cutting him off at the same time, "that if one was to compile a list of utterly useless activities to do in an infirmary, both praying and speaking to one who can't hear you would both be on it. Wouldn't you say?"

There was a lot to be said for patience, and even more for turning the other cheek, but a direct insult like that... "Our friend over there is well beat-up and could use every friend he has, Alaska, "he retorted, a shade of irritation in his voice. He couldn't help it. "Nothing wrong with a little kindness."

His lazy smile took a turn for the worse and became...what was the word? He tried to recall the word-a-day calendars his sister used to buy for him. _Condescending._ "I'm sure, "Alaska purred. "Why not? Let's both share some words with our _friend_ , as you say. If you wouldn't mind?" He motioned Florida to move away from the window. "Private matter, you understand."

This didn't feel good, but manners were manners, and who knew? Maybe Al actually had some kind words to give, against all odds. So he nodded and moved down the room a bit. There he waited, while Alaska walked right up to the window, hands clasped and started speaking. To his surprise, he didn't even try to keep his voice down. What followed didn't surprise him much at all, he was sorry to say.

"Can you hear me in there, Penn?" Alaska asked loudly, rapping on the window. Several technicians who were standing nearby shushed him and shot him angry looks. "Just wanted to congratulate you on your stellar performance in the simulation exercise. You didn't _quite_ manage to get everyone killed, so _that's_ good news. Oh, you know what else? I happen to be higher on the leaderboard than you. Isn't that a shame! Ah well. Guess your best just wasn't-"

Florida wasn't sure what came over him, but all of a sudden he was striding forward and shoving Alaska hard in the chest. As any ruffian or layabout on Arcadia would've said, once upon a time, Butch Flowers had no time for nonsense and even less time for bragging! "Hey! Enough of your high and mighty show!" he shouted. Now the medbay personnel were _really_ ticked off. One was headed in their direction, a stun wand in one hand. They had maybe twenty seconds before they were going to get tossed out.

Alaska's eyes were alight with a cruel satisfaction. "The man speaks for he who cannot! But let's not be farcical, Florida. Penn screwed up, and he paid the price for it. The board speaks for itself-"

OK. That was it. He'd had enough of this...yep, _bastard._ He couldn't believe he was using that sort of language, even just to himself, but desperate times called for desperate measures! Which explained his next move. _Time to take this Bragging Billy down a peg!_

He folded his arms. "That it sure does, Al. Look closer. Whose name is that above yours? By gum, it seems to be-"

Alaska's smile was long gone now, disappeared like a coyote over the horizon. "Listen to me, you old fart, "he hissed, "I could take you down in five seconds flat and not even break a sweat! So watch yourself when you-"

"Care to settle that on the training room floor?"

The red-armoured man gaped, but recovered quickly. "Why don't we do just that!"

"Dandy!" Florida shouted back at him.

The technician with the stun wand had reached them by now, and was brandishing it, but neither of the two agents gave a damn. They had bigger concerns now. Namely, each other.

The match hadn't been scheduled, but impromptu sessions were fairly easy to cook up. Within half an hour they were both down on the floor, choosing their weapons. A few of the other Freelancer agents had heard about the scrap on the grapevine and were watching from above, like Technicolour angels. Technicolour angels…hah! Was that a funny image or what?

Florida looked over the ordnance dispenser that had risen up from the floor, and hummed a little ditty. Just because this bigmouth had insulted him and belittled poor ol' Penn when he couldn't hear him say it or fight back for himself didn't mean he had to handling a bad case of the blues! No, as a matter of fact, he was looking forward to this. Project Freelancer was designed for folks who liked a bit of a scrap, and despite trying to be a nice person and all, Florida knew a bit of rough 'n' tumble was a good way to settle things.

Now then…what did they have? The usual selection of rifles and pistols and grenades, but what _he_ was looking for was-ah yes! He rummaged in the lowest rack and pulled out a long metal tube. Yanking an assault rifle from another slot, he attached the tube to the bottom. Checking the rifle's display, he saw the wink of a green light. Alrighty! The underslung launcher was functional. Now to load it.

He plucked not one, not two, but _eight_ grenades from the dispenser. Four of them he secured in his bandolier, and the other four he loaded into his rifle. Clack-clack! The sound of a locked and loaded rifle sure was sweet to his ears! All he needed now was a magnum and he was ready as spaghetti.

On the other side of the arena, Alaska had decided on a DMR, a pistol and a few grenades. Not that Florida was afraid of the lunatic, but he had shown some mighty impressive skills with that weapon combination in the paint exercise. Firing one-handed and hitting the target! How about that...Well, he'd just have to do his best! That was why he was here, right?

 _Not quite,_ a little voice in his mind said. A voice that often emerged when things were getting tense, or headed for stormy waters. He liked to think it wasn't his own voice, really. It was…too mean. Nasty, even. _We're here because Alaska is a no-good crazy man and needs to learn his place. He insulted Penn while he was lying injured in the infirmary. We'll make him pay for that. Make him pay for a lot of things._

Florida frowned intensely inside his helmet, so glad the others couldn't see it. That wasn't him. It wouldn't be again. The voice ebbed, and died away. Good. Time to get to work.

The dispensers sunk back into the floor, and the two agents faced each other. Alaska swaggered forward, just shy of the white line that demarcated where the weapon stations ended and the arena began. "Not too late to back out, Florida!" he called out. "You know that, don't you?"

Jumpin' Jehoshaphat, did this boy ever stop running his mouth? "'Fraid I can't do that, Al! We've got business to take care of, you and I. Can't call yourself a man if you leave now! You know _that,_ don't you?" _Sarcasm ain't a pleasant way to make your point,_ dad had once said, _but it's sure as heck effective._

Unlike earlier, when he'd gotten as angry as a hungry pig, Alaska just chuckled, a low sound that reminded him of those TV shows about serial killers he'd refused to let the girls watch. "Ohhh, Florida. If you were a steak, I'd be eating you with Dijon mustard." He patted his chestplate with a clang.

"Careful you don't choke on my lucky bone," Florida muttered. Before they could exchange any further banter, the screens around the room lit up with the trademark blue swirl of F.I.L.S.S.' avatar. Her cheerful voice filled the room, and he couldn't help but smile at that. She sounded just like his old schoolteacher, Mrs. Wilkins. Motherly but firm.

" _Good afternoon, Agents!"_ she chirped. _"This training match will begin in a moment. Rules are as follows. Paint rounds only will be used. The first agent to score three hits on the other will win the match! In addition, there will be numerous pillars that will provide cover, but these will appear and disappear at random intervals. Remember, the first to score three hits-"_

"Enough!" Alaska suddenly roared at the screens, fists clenched and shoulder hunched. "Enough talk, F.I.L.S.S.! It's time I put this wizened relic back on the scrap-heap! Let's begin!" He stayed still, but boy was he agitated! Looking like a caged animal. Well, this rabid doggie needed a tranquiliser, and Florida was just the man to do it! Especially after snarling at poor F.I.L.S.S. like that.

Silently, eight pillars rose out of the ground. One stood on its own at each end, but between them the remaining six were arranged. From above, it would've looked like a big ol' division symbol. Speaking of above, Florida would've liked to have waved at the freelancers spectating, but it was time to be focused.

_"Begin!"_

He only caught a flash of Alaska darting around the pillar in front of him before he disappeared into the central arrangement. Rather than charge in, he snuck forward slowly, keeping his body on an oblique angle to the first pillar. Just as well, because a DMR burst missed his head by inches. He ducked right behind it this time instead, and considered his options.

Normally he would place a grenade on the pillar and create a useful li'l ace in the hole, but soon it would retract into the ground and his advantage would be lost. Right now, Alaska had him pinned down on one side of the battlefield, while he controlled his side AND the centre. He couldn't just wait, either-

The pillar started sinking, and he bit back a growl. He flung himself out from behind the pillar, saw the flash of a gun barrel and dropped to his knees immediately. The paint rounds went over his head, but he wasn't safe yet. He blind-fired a grenade into the centre and, before the paint and smoke splatter had time to clear, he was sprinting to find cover. Would Alaska be there?

He slammed his shoulders behind the next pillar, and resisted the urge to peek out and see what the heck was going on. Alaska was one mobile fella-he'd want to keep moving, to disorient him. As if he had been eavesdropping on his thought process, he heard the rasp of a boot not far away, and restrained that urge too. Slow and steady won the race!

Another slight noise, only this time ten steps in the other direction. Florida frowned as he heard that darn chuckle again, reverberating off the pillars. "Oh my, Florida, look at you. Trapped like a rat. That is…until the pillars change. Then you'll have nowhere to go."

Well now. That was a problem.

He heard the grinding noise starting up again, but held his ground. The pillar began to retract, but he held his ground. Florida tried not to think about how exposed he was becoming, and focused on the little plan he'd cooked up. _Find the sound, fields of fire in both directions, find a good firing angle, find next spot of cover-_

The pillar was now at chest height. Florida sucked in a breath, squeezed the trigger of his rifle-

-and jumped onto the pillar.

Alaska could have been forgiven for not expecting such a daring move on Florida's part, nor for the older Freelancer to go on the offensive in such an abrupt fashion. Behind the blood-coloured helmet, he cursed as the blue-clad agent suddenly sprayed his position beside one of the pillars with paint pellets. He tucked his arms by his side and began to roll back into cover, but a lucky round struck him on the foot, eliciting a grunt of pain as he toppled behind a pillar. Being the talented soldier he was, though, he quickly sat up and started returning fire.

Florida whooped with excitement when he saw the hit upon Al's boot, but was forced to find more cover. In the end, he decided upon what had been the other agent's starting position, which was thankfully still standing, and ducked behind that. What a super way to start!

 _"One point to Agent Florida, "_ FILSS chimed in.

Only two more and he would win! Yet, as he reloaded, he realised he was in a bit of a jam now. He wouldn't be able to pull that sort of trick off again; it was a gamble and a half from the very start and would be way too predictable. Plus getting shot in the foot always made a person quite tetchy. Al would be ready for payback.

A pistol shot rang out, and he stayed resolutely still. Another, only this time on the other side of the pillar. Probing his defences. No problemo. He'd stay put, for as long as he had cover. A well-placed grenade would cover his retreat to a new pillar. Just then, he heard a forced wheeze, like of someone lifting a heavy box. That sounded mighty ominous! He looked at his motion tracker. Nothing there.

Well, Al was sure as heck cooking something up, and he had to be ready. He could cook up a big kaboom if he wanted to. But that didn't solve the gosh-darned question of where-

"Ahem."

He looked up, straight into Alaska's faceplate. He could have sworn he saw a smile behind it, before the lunatic leaped at him.

Together, they crashed down to the floor. Florida was dimly aware that the pillar had started going down, but right now he didn't give a lick. He managed to pin one of Al's arms behind his back, but he saw the other hand reaching for the DMR on his back. Time to get this big oaf off him! Scrunching his knees up, he sprang them outwards, sending Alaska flying off him. Shaking his head, Florida prepared to fire his rifle, distance be darned.

But he was too slow. Alaska's rifle seemed to blur, coming off his back, folding into his hands, and firing. _Faster than a-_

A paint bullet caught him in the chest, sending him stumbling back. Son of a nutcracker, that stuff stung like a million bad-tempered bees! Ignoring it, he fired a grenade at Alaska, and growled when he elegantly side-stepped and the explosive went zinging downrange to explode harmlessly against the furthest pillar.

But he had plenty more than that. Another grenade shot out, and this time, Al had to make an ungainly scuttle for cover in order to avoid the pink blast that ballooned outward, and made the pillars look like big ol' strawberry ice-creams. He almost laughed at the sight, and then winced as his chest strained. The paint would slow him down, no doubt 'bout it.

Now wasn't the time to be taking a nap, though. The match was still on, and Al had pulled level, as F.I.L.S.S. was nice enough to point out suddenly. Getting back on his feet, he ducked low, and started to move, eyes scanning. Staying still wasn't a possibility anymore, by gum it wasn't! He decided to get in close, like Al had just done. Unorthodox, but it would work. Unorthodox…hey, maybe that was the answer!

As he mulled this idea over (it seemed crazy), he heard his teammate's ( _not right now he isn't_ ) mocking voice yet again, seemingly from all over. "You know, there's an old saying, Florida. You can't teach an old dog new tricks. And by the looks of things, you are the old dog! Muscles getting tired? A little short of breath? I wouldn't be surprised! Ha ha ha ha-"

He was still laughing when Florida came out from behind the pillar and charged straight towards him. He bit back a torrent of swear-words and pulled back the charging lever on his DMR. Florida might have been a great deal slower than him, and their styles manifestly different, but the old man was thinking on his feet. Not that it would make a difference in the end, but it was making him look bad-in front of his colleagues, and in front of Moi.

The pair of them were inside the central pillar formation, and it was at this time they chose to go ballistic. Not only did they raise and lower spasmodically, but the pillar bases themselves roved around, making the ground as treacherous as a pit of quicksand. Florida had to stop and dodge to one side as a pillar shot up beside him. Alaska chuckled with delight as he saw his opponent's slowed momentum and opened fire.

He ran low, a pair of rising pillars just covering his head. Pink (although by this point, they looked more lightish red) splatters flew over him like comets, and he mantled over one lowering pillar, rolled, skidded to a halt, pivoted and fired. The grenade nearly caught Alaska right in the faceplate, but he ducked just in time. Florida prepared to fire another-

Click. Click. He was out, and had no time to reload. "Damn it!" he muttered, stowing his guilt at cursing away for later. Alaska was already on the run, strafing him yet again. Now when was HE going to run out of ammo? His rifle seemed bottomless. Not only that, but he was jumping all over the place, like a big ol' monkey. He jumped up on one pillar, leaped off that, and kicked himself off another, all the while firing. Like a red shadow!

Florida tried to stay positive, but at this point, he was going to lose easily. Simply returning fire wouldn't help at all. He needed his grenades, and he needed 'em lickety-split! Desperately, he cast eyes about, looking for a semi-defensible position in the midst of all this, and spotted a pillar only just rising up, and slowly too. He sprinted towards, it, already plucking a grenade from his bandolier, badly placed shots landing all around him.

At this point, adrenaline pumpin' away, time seemed to slow down to a snail's crawl. He flung himself to the ground, locked the grenade into his rifle, and flung himself again, all the while avoiding shots. Hearing a familiar clicking sound, he realised that Al was reloading. About time too! The man was fumbling with a clip from his belt as he prepared to spring from a pillar, onto another. _I don't think so, buster!_

Rising up, he raised the rifle, fired the grenade-

-and bit back another swear as the grenade fell short of its target. More paint splattered the pillar Alaska was standing on, but none of it touched him. However, he did yelp and fall in a mighty undignified way to the floor. There was a chance if there ever was one! He ran forward, flicking the setting on his rifle back to full auto-

Suddenly he was staring dumbfounded at his empty hands. Alaska, once again, had acted with ridiculous speed and blasted the rifle out of his hands! What a Low-handed Larry he was! But at least it hadn't counted as a point.

_"Point to Agent Alaska!"_

"Oh darn." His pistol was still holstered.

Alaska depolarised his visor and smirked maliciously. "You gave it a good effort, old man. But time for you to give up." He raised his DMR-

-and cried out in shock as a pillar rose from right underneath him, carrying him into the air. Florida didn't hesitate, and drew his pistol fast as he could. _Blam!_ Right in the kisser!

"Point to Agent Florida! The next agent to score wins!"

Now THIS was a contest, by gum! Despite all the hard luck he'd had since this match started, and the paint making him feel like a man who'd woken up on the wrong side of the bed, he felt that thrill of the fight rush through him. _If this ain't living, gosh knows what is!_ He wished the girls were here to see this…

An enraged roar, and he saw Alaska stalk out from behind a pillar, visor coated in that pink mess. His sight would be obscured as all heck. "Come here!" he bellowed, gripping his rifle like a baseball bat he wanted to swing. "I'll kill you, you little fuck!" And he charged, firing as he ran.

"Holy cow!" Florida had no chance to fire back, not with a piddly little pistol like this. The DMR had far better range, and he'd had his fill of the other fella out-shooting him. So he fell back on that oldest strategy: running away. _If you run away and get the job done later,_ dad had opined, _it's not a bad deal._

Pink splatters hunted him through the pillars, which had begun to slow down and return to the original spasmodic movements. Florida slid behind one, but knew it wouldn't work forever. The other man was angrier than a dog with a beesting, and too good at aiming. Soon he'd land a lucky shot and the match would be over.

He reflexively checked his bandolier, still assessing his next move. Three left. Time to go loud!

He caught a flash of red flitting between cover, and lobbed the first, then the second, then and the third. They all went off, one after the other, and covered the arena in the splatter. The smoke began to clear, and he hoped against hope that just one of them had landed a hit on the other agent.

But F.I.L.S.S. stayed quiet, and he heard footsteps quickly. Glancing down at the pistol in his hands, he checked the clip, and shook his head in disgust. A simple exchange of gunfire was…well, it was too simple! He needed to shake things up in order to have a chance. Something, anything…

His eyes fell upon the object, and he grinned behind his blue ODST-issue helmet. Perfecto!

Alaska had crouched down low against the pillar, ready to finish the fight. His smile was serene and confident. He knew he had a better weapon, and was a better aim, and was quicker. And that was just in the past thirty seconds. He was the better agent by far, and as he heard Florida's steps (clumsily trying to flee for another pillar), he knew now was the time to prove it. He was the better agent, and everyone would know it. He stepped out, saw the blue man, squeezed the trigger-

Without pausing, Florida ducked and flung something at him. As it caught him around the neck, Alaska realised with baffled rage it was his bandolier. He tore it off, refocused-

_Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!_

As he unloaded the rest of his clip into Alaska, Florida looked up towards the scoreboard. And sure enough, that two became a three. He whooped with joy. Colour him purple and plant a flower on his head, he was the winner!

_"The winner is: Agent Florida!"_

The pillars began to retract, and the doors opened. The Freelancers who had watched spilled onto the floor, shouting congratulations and expressing their disbelief at the result. Florida removed his helmet, and thanked each one in turn with a big smile and a hug. What great pals they were! What a great day this had been!

And yet…he still felt slightly bad for poor ol' Al, struggling to pick himself up. Maybe it hadn't been all that necessary to fire all the bullets…

He strode over to the man and offered his hand. After a moment's consideration, the other man took it, and Florida pulled him upright. "Heck of a match, Al, "he beamed. "Great job!"

For a minute, Florida feared another one of his mood swings, or worse. But after a few seconds of silence, Alaska removed his own helmet and nodded grudgingly. "Not bad. For an old man."

Florida chuckled and slung an arm around his shoulder. "Watch it, young whippersnapper. I might not be a spring chicken, but I can still show you a thing or two." The pair hobbled out of the room, headed for the paint removal room.

Alaska snorted a laugh, grudgingly conceding his point. "Maybe you can, Florida. Maybe you can."


	20. One (Crate) For The Team

**Chapter Nineteen – One (Crate) for the Team**

**Agent New York**

**Written by Maple Alycia Hood**

* * *

" _Childhood is not from birth to a certain age, and at a certain age the child is grown, and puts away childish things. Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies."_ – Edna St. Vincent Millay

* * *

Things had long since become quiet, but the aftermath of both the mission and the fight between Alaska and Florida had yet to finish. Not everybody was in a good mood, York noted, as he passed various Freelancers in the hall on his way to the rec room, where his fellow winning teammates awaited. He made sure to give Penn some room as he headed in the opposite direction, helmet on so his expression wasn't visible to the outside world. No doubt he was still mad about losing, but it was also a good idea to not get on this guy's bad side.

The first time they'd seen him fight was still clear in the tan armoured Freelancer's mind.

Alaska was leaning against the door frame, staring at the floor and muttering to someone called 'Moi'. York had learned that it was best not to ask. Hey, a man's private business was his private business. He wasn't _that_ inquisitive. Nevertheless, he did mutter a polite 'excuse me' as he passed the other man, squeezing his arms together in order to fit through the gap. Well, to fit himself, and the large crate of alcohol, through the gap.

 _Thud._ The crate was lifted down onto the table, catching the attention of his comrades. Virginia, with her helmet discarded to the side, raised an eyebrow at the offerings that had been presented before them. "Beer?" she asked simply.

"What else for the winning team?" York answered with a smirk. There was a soft snort from his left, and he glanced to see a helmetless Carolina leaning up against the observation window that looked down on one of the many training decks. She raised her head to give him a dangerous look. Yep, she was still upset about losing. Losing the mission _and_ losing her Number One spot. Things weren't going too well for him anymore.

"You know that's against protocol, right?" she deadpanned, shaking her head. York opened his mouth to respond.

"How did you even get it onboard?" Massa piped up before he could speak, a soft _pop_ indicating that she'd used the nearby bottle opener to open one of the many bottles of booze. York turned back with his winning smirk to answer that remark instead.

"Sometimes it just takes a bit of knowing who works around here and getting onto their good side."

"In other words, he sweet talked some poor guy into getting it over here." 479er added with a soft chuckle as she snatched a bottle for herself, grabbing the bottle opener and popping off the cap. York gave an innocent look, both hands raised in a surrender position, before he looked towards the uncertain Florida nearby.

"C'mon, man," he tried, motioning with his head towards the crate. "Just one? I mean, you kicked ass without us even expecting it! You gotta give yourself some credit."

"Weeeell, I guess just _one_ wouldn't hurt-" Florida agreed slowly, his hand moving to grab one of the bottles, but he was promptly interrupted by a smack to the back from Wyoming. York had rarely seen the British man without his helmet; he sported a large black moustache and neat black hair. Stereotypically British, alright.

He wondered what the man would do if the pride and joy on his upper lip were to be accidentally shaved off in the middle of the night. With no evidence to trace, of course.

"Not bad with the training fight, chap," he congratulated, taking a bottle and swiping the bottle opener from 479er's open hand, which just seconds before had just been trying to put it back on the table. Needless to say, the pilot didn't look particularly impressed, shooting a glare at 343-R when he sniggered.

"Oh, thanks! I gave it my best, at least," the dark blue armored Freelancer answered cheerily. Wyoming gave a brief nod, opening his own bottle and taking a drink before heading out of the room. At least he'd had the courtesy to leave the bottle opener.

"Perhaps even soon you shall have the opportunity to face me. Then we'll see what happens." He chuckled on his way out, causing pretty much everyone in the room to shake their heads, except for Florida who was far too cheerful from the comment, and Carolina, who simply growled softly to herself and left the room.

"She's just a bundle of fun, isn't she?" Virginia muttered, leaning back in a chair of her own after placing her own bottle on the table and grabbing a nearby book, settling back to do some reading. York didn't really hear her, staring off after the redhead.

A part of him did feel somewhat guilty; it was clear that she was just trying to impress the Director. Well, they all were, but she seemed to take a lot of this to heart. Dedication was good, but this seemed a little extreme, even for a specialist soldier. But whatever, that was her decision. She'd have her reasons.

"So, that's one mission done." His attention turned back to Massa, whose own gaze was on him with a small smirk. "Any idea what we're doing next, oh fearless Number One?"

York couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head. "I don't even know what that means," he admitted, glancing out of the observation window at the board on the other side. "Number One. The scoreboard seems like some kind of way of splitting us apart, don't you think? I mean, how can we work as a team if we're constantly competing?"

"I can see your point." Florida replied, leaning back and following the tan armored man's gaze to the bright blue light ahead of them. "But you hear the Director before; it's not to start a war, right? Maybe it's just there so we know how to improve. So we can take advice off of each other. It could be a positive thing."

York sure hoped so, otherwise this Project would fall down before it had even learnt to stand.

 


	21. Old Habits Die Hard

**Chapter Twenty – Old Habits Die Hard**

**Agent Wyoming**

**Written by NicKenny**

* * *

_"Friendship needs no words - it is solitude delivered from the anguish of loneliness."_ \- Dag Hammarskjold

* * *

Wyoming picked up the sniper rifle, popped open the chamber and slowly loaded it, snapping it shut again with a sense of calm detachment. He hefted the rifle over his shoulder, swaggering over to the far end of the training room, a small platform rising to about hip height next to him as he reached his position. He knelt down behind it, propping the sniper rifle up on the platform in order to steady his aim, and waved his free hand towards the ceiling for a second before placing it back on the barrel of the rifle.

F.I.L.S.S. acknowledged his signal, "Round beginning," echoing throughout the room as, on the far wall, roughly forty holographic green circles, each about the size of a dinner plate, formed and slowly began to move around the wall, passing over and under one another in a seemingly random pattern.

He took a moment to observe the targets, steadying himself with a deep breath, and under his visor his mouth curled into a smug smile.

 _This was what I was_ born _to do_ , he thought to himself, eyes locked on a circle that was just about to partially pass through another.

A rifle shot rang out and the two circles turned red as the round passed through them both, slowly descending to the bottom left corner of the wall where they remained, soon joined by another four of their comrades as Wyoming's rifle rang out three more times, and he was forced to stop and reload.

That was a drawback of the System 99 Anti-Matériel, he had to grudgingly admit. A four cartridge chamber was not ideal when you were fighting forces greater than your own, and Wyoming had plenty of experience in fights of that kind. He knew that many of the other Freelancers, Alaska in particular, looked down on the sniper rifle due to its low round capacity, and maybe they had a point. Wielded in the hands of an ordinary man, the sniper rifle was a considerably less threatening weapon that a DMR, battle rifle or assault rifle.

However, Wyoming wasn't an ordinary man. He was a Freelancer, and the best one in this particular area. Sure, Virginia had displayed some talent as a sniper, but she couldn't compete with him, and they both knew it. " _One shot, one kill_ " had been the motto of Wyoming's regiment in the UNSC, but he had always noted that he often killed more than one person with a single shot.

And that was what had gotten him into this project.

His gun rang out four more times and seven green circles suddenly flashed red and descended down the wall to join their fallen brethren. The next four shots took down six more, as did the next four, and the next.

Finally he was left facing a wall with only three green circles still moving across its surface, and one last bullet left in his rifle's chamber. He paused, waiting for the right moment, loath to take an easy shot and be forced to reload his rifle. He knelt there for several minutes, unmoving, awaiting his chance, when his rifle finally rang out one last time, the bullet phasing through the holographic surfaces of the three circles and smashing into the very tangible surface of the wall, dropping to the ground beneath with a little _ping._

"Round over," F.I.L.S.S.'s motherly voice intoned, echoing throughout the room. "This session sets a new record for you, Agent Wyoming. All forty targets eliminated with the use of twenty-six rounds, beating your previous record by two rounds."

Wyoming grinned, removing his helmet and punching the fist holding it into the air in mock celebration. "Could I ask what Virginia's current record is, F.I.L.S.S.?" he asked smoothly, twirling his moustache with his free hand.

There was a brief pause before F.I.L.S.S. answered; no doubt looking for confirmation that she could reveal the data in question. "Agent Virginia's record is thirty-five rounds."

Wyoming nodded, his smile growing even wider. Virginia was good, no doubt about that. Even back with his own squad, no one other than Wyoming himself would have been able to surpass her. But that was the important thing. He _was_ better than her. Even though she had caught him off-guard on that simulation mission, he was still the better agent, as a sniper at the very least. That was why he was fourth, after all, and Virginia was a place behind him in fifth.

 _Dreadfully sorry, old girl,_ he thought smugly, _but you're going to have to do better than that to beat_ me.

Well, he was above her for the moment at least. After Alaska's loss to Florida the night before, the table might be updated at any stage. Which was why he was out here, training, while York, Florida, Virginia and Massachusetts recovered from their respective hangovers gained from partying the night before. He was just glad he had taken the one beer and left, well before York had gotten out the jäger...

He should probably try getting to know the crew better too, he suddenly realised. He could use some items that weren't _technically_ allowed on-board the _Mother of Invention_ due to the Director's unfortunately harsh policies regarding etiquette and the agent's abilities to perform their tasks. Then there were the little things he craved, but had been deemed too trivial by Project Freelancer to actually order them when the supply-pelicans came from Eris.

Apparently Earl Grey wasn't a necessity for Project Freelancer.

"You're on quite a streak, agent," F.I.L.S.S.'s voice murmured admiringly. Your training scores have increased remarkably over the last week."

"Not a streak, my dear, a habit." Wyoming corrected, emptying the spent cartridges out of his rifle's chamber and dumping them in the spent ammo bin next to the weapon's table.

A slow handclap began from to Wyoming's left, and he glanced over to see Florida casually leaning against the wall by the entrance, a steaming mug of cocoa in one of his hands that threatened to spill over onto the training room floor with each clap.

"Fine shootin'," he commented, ending his applause and raising his mug in Wyoming's direction as a sort of salute, beaming wildly from behind the cocoa. "Don't know how those guys where even able to get a shot off at poor ol' Penn."

Wyoming shrugged, dropping the sniper rifle back on the weapon's table and slowly walking over. "Can't take out everyone at once, old chap. Key to being a sniper is patience. Penn could probably use some. Good enough fellow and all that, but needs to learn to bide his time."

Florida nodded, his smile slipping a bit. He paused to take a sip of his drink, wincing slightly at the heat, then looked back up at Wyoming. "Still…" he began, pausing as he searched for the right words. "Terrible thing that happened to him. Could have been anyone of us, after all."

Wyoming nodded sagely, agreeing with the shorter soldier. "Indeed. Could have ended badly for the big guy. The medics seem to have done a good job patching him up though. He was in good enough shape to watch your fight against Alaska. Left pretty soon after though."

He shook his head slowly, visions of Penn lying in a pool of his own blood, hands firmly grasping the flag, flashing through his mind. "Anyway, enough about that, how about your little tussle with Alaska yesterday? Hell of a fight. Hopefully it'll have knocked him down a peg or two."

Florida chuckled a bit, waving away Wyoming's praise with his free hand. "It was nothing, really. Al just needed to be taught a little respect, that's all. He's a good kid really, just needs a prod in the right direction from time to time."

Wyoming snorted and shook his head in disbelief, feeling that he probably had a much better idea of what Alaska was like that Florida did, with all his amusing naivety and good cheer. He had known men like Alaska during his stint in the UNSC. They rarely learned their lesson, no matter how hard it was drilled into them. Indeed, Wyoming was probably one of those men himself. He was a creature of habit after all. It always took an effort to embrace the new, and the potentially dangerous. Old habits die hard, after all.

_Speaking of habits…_

He paused, glancing suspiciously at the mug of cocoa in Florida's hand. "The new shipment of supplies come in yet?" he asked cautiously, not willing to raise his hopes.

"Yep, came in about an hour ago," the shorter man replied, smiling.

"Don't suppose they had any Earl Grey on board?"

Florida shook his head sadly. "Don't think so, but you should try taking it up with the Director. He'll want to keep the moral of our little group up, or I'm not Agent Florida."

"Already have," Wyoming stated grimly, walking past Florida through the doorway that the other soldier had been propped up against. "Apparently the UNSC's rations are supposed to suffice. Sacrilege!"

"Tough break," Florida murmured sympathetically, following behind, although Wyoming was almost too lost in his own self-pity to notice. He shook his head, gave a sorrowful little sigh and waved his hand in the air carelessly.

"Don't worry about it. We all have our own burdens to bear."

Florida smiled a little at that and shook his head. "We don't have to bear them alone. We are a team, after all."

Wyoming glanced back at him, a quizzical eyebrow raised. "What do you mean?" he asked, a trace of confusion present in his voice.

Florida shrugged. "I notice you didn't hang around after the party started yesterday. You never really offer up anything about what you did before Project Freelancer, even more so than Penn or Al. All we know is that you served in the UNSC for a while, which is pretty much common across the whole darn board. Just wanted to let you know, as my gran' pappy always said, a problem shared is a problem halved."

Wyoming laughed, turning to face his companion. "Hate to break it to you, old chap, but sometimes it _really_ isn't," he said, moving towards Florida until their faces were only a few inches apart, a note of anger and disdain entering his voice. "Anyway, you're one to talk about secrecy, and burdens. Anyone brings up _your_ past and you clam up like an oyster."

He turned around and strode off, leaving the other freelancer standing their helplessly, a troubled look on his face. Wyoming strode into the cafeteria, pushing through the throng of personnel that swarmed the hall, and sat down at an empty table, muttering darkly to himself as he fumed away. The personnel quickly learned to leave him be, after he punched the first one brave enough to come over and ask him if anything was the matter.

Alaska came into the hall, but sat at a table by himself far away from Wyoming, which was fine with him. No doubt his defeat yesterday still rankled, and Wyoming knew that he probably would have cracked a few jokes at Al's expense had he not been so irritated by Florida's inquiries.

A tray was placed on top of the table in front of him, a cup filled with an unmistakable elixir in the dead centre. Wyoming looked up into the face of Agent Florida, whose features were set in a look of determination and resolve.

"Wh…where did you get this?" Wyoming asked, non-plussed, unable to believe his own eyes.

Florida just smiled wearily, shrugging. "You just have to be friendly with the right people. Friends help each other out."

He gestured towards the cup and Wyoming picked it up slowly, allowing the scent to waft up, breathing it in deeply with a sigh as satisfaction as unmistakable recognition dawned. He tilted it to his lips, eyes widening as the oh-so-familiar liquid danced across his taste buds, and he set the cup down, looking back at Florida.

"That's…really good of you, old chap," he murmured, his anger gone, replaced by a sense of guilt and shame. "You're right, you know. Friends do help one another out."

He paused, glancing back down at the cup, a slight smile playing across his face as he considered his next few words. "I could use a friend."

He extended his hand across the table, offering it to Florida. "Name's Reginald," he said, his eyes locked on Florida's blue ones, maintaining his smile.

Florida smiled back, his blue eyes twinkling with the lights of the cafeteria and a spark that seemed to burn from within, taking Wyoming's hand in his own and shaking it warmly. "Butch."

 


	22. Nightmares

**Chapter Twenty-One - Nightmares**

**Agent Florida**

**Written by OhSoDeadly**

* * *

_"She shook her head in puzzlement. 'You're very strange,' she said._

_'No, I'm very ordinary,' said Arthur, 'but some very strange things have happened to me. You could say I'm more differed from than differing.'"_ – The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

* * *

When the alarm went off at approximately 7:30 AM, shipboard time, in Agent Florida's bunkroom, a pair of blue eyes snapped open and regarded the ceiling with a keen gaze. Built into it was a tiny little skylight, and through it, he could see stars.

What a great way to start the day! Though what with all the blackness outside and around, it sure as shootin' didn't look like day. Best way to change that was to get to work, get the blood pumpin' and keep on truckin'!

He started his day off as he usually did-flinging himself off the top bunk and landing on the ground with near-catlike grace. Once he was outta bed, it was time for a little exercise. His breath puffed and wheezed like a teakettle as he began some one-handed push-ups. Healthy workout, that was the ticket!

Only a few metres from his head, Alaska still slept. The man's face was far from serene, and he tossed and turned and grumbled like a toddler in a crib. Haha, another funny image! Maybe he'd take some time off to draw it and paste it on his locker. He used to be quite the drawer, way back in the day…before he'd come to the UNSC and started up a brand new life. Though Florida hated wallowing in bygone events more than cherry tomatoes, it was the one thing he had no bones about taking with him, into this new chapter of the life of Butch Flowers.

Even as he flipped over and began a series of gruelling sit-ups with the medicine ball he'd requisitioned from inventory, an image came unbidden to his head. He almost stopped immediately, frozen to his core by the sheer force of the memory. _Oh, godda-_

 _"Daddy! Lookit, lookit!"  
He turned, bent down and swept the little golden-headed blur up into his arms with a joyous cry. "Ellie, sweetheart! What is it you've got to show me? Did you find another shinebeetle? Don't get dirt all down your dress now, it's almost supper time!"  
Elizabeth Flowers, all of four years old, shook her head firmly and withdrew a grubby piece of paper from a pocket in her overalls. "No, daddy, lookit. I drawed you a pick chair."  
"Did you now?" He unrolled the scrap of paper, and his heart melted at the sight. A brown line, with pink and red flowers drawn on it, and five stick figures standing holding hands. One of them was wearing blue clothing, and above the figure's head, were the words, in childish scrawl, "_ the best daddy ever."  
 _He placed the drawing to his heart and swept Ellie up in another hug. "You are my world, "he whispered quietly. "And I'll always be here for you."_  
"Promise, daddy?"  
"You betcha." He then scooped her up and placed her on his back, roaring like a dinosaur. Shrieking with delight, the two of them careered off through the house, laughing like a pair of maniacs."-mnit."

He dropped the medicine ball to the floor with a resounding thud, and flopped down onto the floor. Stared at the ceiling. But not even the skylight offered him any comfort now. He drew in a shaky breath. Why did the past keep sinking its claws into him?

Maybe he should just go back to sleep. Sure, he might run into some nasty nightmares, but he might not. You never knew, was one of his mottos.

 _Yep. You never know when the sky will burn, and take everything you love with it. You really don't._ He grimaced, and massaged his forehead. "Quiet you!" he whispered furiously. "Just be quiet-"

A pillow sailed from out of nowhere and smacked him firmly in the head. He yelped and whirled around.

Alaska had propped himself up on one elbow, a big ol' frown on his face. "Three things, Florida my friend. One, talking to oneself is MY thing. Certainly not yours. Second, just because you bested me in our last practice match doesn't make us the best of friends. Third and last of all…" He quickly turned and threw the shipboard alarm clock next to his bed directly at his head. "Shut up!"

He ducked, and the clock flew over his head and hit the far wall. Pieces of plastic and glass were strewn across the carpet like leaves. Florida shook his head at such a mess, and for such a silly reason, but he stood up and nodded in apology. "Sorry, Al. Didn't mean to wake you. Just…ah, just one of those mornings, you know?"

Alaska snorted, and swung his legs onto the floor. "With you, Florida, every morning is one of those mornings." He scratched his head vigorously, like a mouse devouring a piece of cheese. "You are obviously feeling social this morning, so I propose that you leave our little abode and go find those who have a far more agreeable start to the day-" he yanked out a black hair that had a touch of grey about it-"than me. Why don't you go do that?"

Well, Florida was no noddy. He knew Al just wanted him to leave him alone. But heck, having time to yourself was hardly a crime! And maybe the man was right, who could say who was around the ship at this time of day? Who knows what he'd find? A little smile coursed over his face. It'd be like an adventure!

Not to mention he could use some Butch Flowers time. It had been non-stop go-action since he arrived and he was hankerin' for some…hmm, what was the word?

He broke out of his funk and asked his roommate, "Hey, Al. What's that word for when you just wanna have a look around the old brain-box, you know, check up on how everything's going-"

"Introspection."

He snapped his fingers. "That's the one, alright!" Heading over to his miniature locker near the door, he pulled out his training gloves, a sweatband and a pair of running shoes. "I reckon you've hit the nail on the head, Al. A good walk-around the mother'll do me the world of good!" He paused, then asked, "Al?"

Alaska was staring intently at the wall, occasionally nodding. "Yes, yes. Good. Off you go."

"Are you-"

"Shhhh. Moi is trying to speak. Don't interrupt. Rude, rude."

And since Florida had the highest respect for a person's morning ritual, he left without saying anythin' else.

* * *

The training room was a few floors up from where he was bunking, so he went down the corridor and stepped into the personnel elevator. The doors slid shut, and the intercom came on. " _Good morning, Agent Florida! Where would you like to go?"_ "Mornin', F.I.L.S.S.! Hope you're having a lovely day! Training room, please."

 _"Certainly! And may I say, Agent, that you seem to be in a good mood today. Your dopamine levels are at an exceptionally good standard!"_ "Thanks a bunch, F.I.L.S.S.!" Gosh, what a nice computer lady!

The smooth ride came to an abrupt stop, and the doors slid open a second time. Florida immediately straightened up, in case it was the Director or the Counselor. Wouldn't do to look slouchy in front of the bosses!

But it wasn't either of them, instead, it was a fella of average size and the most colourful clothes he'd ever laid eyes on. Good grief, it looked like he'd been attacked by a gang of rabid spray-cans! He tried not to laugh as the new arrival stepped into the elevator and hit a button of his own. He shot a glance at Florida through his visor. "You're up early."

Florida grinned. "I'll be getting the worm! Ha ha ha!"

The man stared at him for a few seconds, and then shook his head. "Not sure I understand." He folded his arms, and Florida noticed he had the medical insignia on his shoulder, underneath a smear of orange and purple. A medic, then! He felt a sudden rush or gratitude towards the man. It was him and his that were helping Penn get back on his feet.

Smoothing over the awkward pause, he stuck out a paw. "I'm Agent Florida! What's your name?"

The multi-coloured man extended his own set-o'-five and they shook. "Oh, so you're that guy, are you? Heard about the job you did on Alaska. Nice going. The guy's a prick."

Florida tried not to let his smile falter, but right now he was torn. Al could be kind of a bozo, but he was still his bunkmate. "Oh, you know, it was just a splendid tussle all around-"

"What many fail to realise, "the medic continued, not even registering the fact that he'd cut him off, "is the sheer uninhibited _level_ of prickness he has. Pricks come and go, but Alaska is, like, the one prick to rule them all. King of the pricks. Chairman of the fucking board. Oh, and he's crazy. Did I mention he's crazy?"

Florida shook his head. He got the feeling talking was kind of…not an option at this moment. Maybe in a second.

"Well. He is. And not the good kind of crazy either. The kind that doesn't know the difference between throwing rocks at a cat and setting it on fire. You watch out for him."

"Umm…will Penn be ok?" This all came out rushed.

"Hmm? Oh, right, that guy. Yeah, he'll be fine. Nabbed a sweet bit of downtime from me but whatever. I'll get my payback someday." The elevator came to a stop, and the door dinged. "Here's my stop. You have a nice day now. Or don't. I'm a medic, not a PR man." He stepped out, and half-turned. "Private First Class Killian Jay. Since you asked." The door closed, and the ascent continued.

Florida would have mulled over his comments regarding Al, but for some reason, all he did was stand there and blink. _Sometimes in life you'll find moments that aren't in any sorta manual to life,_ his dad had stated once, _and you won't do anything but stop and stare._ He was pretty sure his dad wouldn't have counted on this, though. "Good grief, " he muttered.

* * *

At this hour, he was pretty darned certain of finding himself a comfy spot in the training room, but as luck would have it, when he walked up to the entrance door, the lock buzzed red. He frowned, and spoke aloud. "F.I.L.S.S., is there somebody in there already?"

 _"Correct, Agent Florida. Agent Carolina is currently in the middle of a hand-to-hand simulation. However, she has only logged herself in for another seven minutes, so she should be finishing shortly. Would you like to listen to some music while you wait?"_ "Boy, would I!" What a treat! Usually free play of music was banned by the Director, but that was F.I.L.S.S. for you; trying to put a smile on everyone's dial, any way she could! He sat himself down on a bench beside the doors and tapped his foot and nodded his head to the beat as he waited.

In a little while, he heard the doors slide open with a muted groan, and footsteps. He immediately stood. He had whole bags full o' respect for Carolina. She was practically their leader. Or would be, pretty soon! He beamed as she walked in. "Morning, Carolina!"

She was wearing a black training vest, trousers and combat boots, but her forehead was sheathed in sweat. Hearing his greeting, she turned slowly and gave him a curt nod. "Florida. Come to train, I see. Good. We all need to stay sharp." She started pulling off her boots, flexing her toes.

"I'll say! We're a fit bunch, alright, but it always pays to keep yourself up to the mark." He started donning his gloves and sweatband. "How did the session go?"

"Fine. Some improvement. I'll be back later today, so don't stay too long." She started unstrapping the vest, to reveal a tank top underneath. He winced at seeing the red marks on her underarms. The woman worked harder than his ma ever had, and that was a fact. Always a go-getter, Carolina, but sometimes she worked too darned hard. Work and play, and some people tended to forget the latter.

Obviously, she wasn't much of a talker, but Florida was a big believer in cheering people up, so he tried one last time. "Apparently Penn's gonna be A-ok! Isn't that good news?"

He watched her face closely, and as she nodded slowly, he understood. _She wants to be all hard and tough like a rock,_ he thought, _but she does care. Deep down. You just gotta dig a little…_ A small smile on her face, come and gone in a flash. "That is good news. I'm glad to hear it." She stood up, gear in hands and no nonsense in her voice. "There's no time for laying about on this ship. Later, Florida." She walked out of the room, head held high.

Looking after her, Florida smiled a little smile of his own. Not so bad, after all. But by cheese and whiskers, she needed to let her hair down a little! That York fellow was surely the expert on that. _Hmm, maybe he and Carolina…_ nope, nope, enough of that. It was no-one's business but theirs. It would be effrontery of the worst kind.

It would be rather nice, though. Young love was always a sight to see!

He got up, and started stretching his arms as he walked into the training room. The cavernous space was quite empty, except for a small console set in the far wall. When he'd finally reached it, he started inputting commands for a hand-to-hand drill. "Darn thing should be near the door, " he grumbled. But he put that out of his mind as he stepped into the middle, and waited for the simulation to begin.

Normally, he would be practising something more suited to his style, like infiltration, or attrition-style combat. But that last tiff with Al had shown that his CQC skills weren't up to snuff, no sir! So, since FILSS hadn't yet crafted a bunch of ninja robot dummies (as York had been plaintively wishing for the other day), he had to use this instead. What a shame! An army of robots would be a heck of a challenge, and by gum, Florida always appreciated challenges. It would be like that time on Antilles IX-

A series of holographic green circles rose up from the floor and started circling him. Whops-a-daisy! No time for that now. He immediately ducked into a fighting stance and started the drill. Two orbs flew at him like angry ghosts, but he dispatched one with a thrust elbow and the other with a mean right hook. They turned red after a loud beep, and continued to spin. It was up to him to make sure he didn't accidentally hit them again, otherwise his score would take a big ol' hit. But he stayed intent on the green ones. He could feel the sweat starting to run down his forehead already as he delivered a roundhouse kick, pivoted on his grounded foot and punched another orb. _Beep. Beep beep. Beep._

After what seemed like an eternity of laying the hurt on the holograms, he came to a stop, fists up and panting heavily. Holy smokes, what a workout! He should do this one more often, keep his body guessing. At his age, it would help anyway. _After a fair bit of living, the body gets to know things,_ as dad had once said philosophically, _so throwing new things at it is always interesting._ "Score, F.I.L.S.S.?" He hastily added, "Please!"

" _Calculcating. You showed an efficiency score of 72%, Agent. Might I suggest lowering the difficulty level?"_ That didn't sound like no good idea to him! "Sorry F.I.L.S.S., but you have to train like you'd fight in the real world! Our enemies aren't gonna be takin' it easy on us, that's for sure. Thanks for asking though!" He wiped sweat from his upper lip, and then breathed in heavily. "Run it again, please."

" _Of course."_ And off he was again! The orbs spun and whirred, and he found himself jumping like a monkey trying to hit them all. Efficiency in this sim, he'd learned, was less about hitting the targets and more about how quickly you could hit them. That was probably why Carolina liked it so much, she was like greased lightning! He would have to be the same. He jumped into the air and delivered a quick one-two kick, but landed awkwardly and lost vital seconds getting his balance back. "Fudge!" he hissed.

He didn't expect a good result, and he didn't get it. " _Your efficiency level was at 67%, Agent. Would you like to run it again?"_ "You bet." He was hard pressed to keep up a cheerful attitude now, for some reason. He scowled a little. His bad morning was doing its dandiest to stay with him. The holograms winked green, and he threw himself back into it, uncomfortably aware of the numbness creeping up his arms and legs.

Three more times he ran the simulation, and he never managed more than seventy percent. At the end of the last one, he sighed, and conceded defeat. He just wasn't on his best game today. Thanking FILSS for the session, he trudged dispiritedly out of the room, tearing the sweatband from his sticky forehead and shoving it into his pocket. "What a lousy day, " he mumbled to himself. Looks like today just wasn't gonna work for him.

When he stepped back through the door, he closed his eyes for a second and immediately regretted it. The holograms had reminded him of the green of plasma fire during the war, and though he hadn't wanted to let on to anyone about it, let alone himself, he found that they triggered some nasty memories. Nasty as he'd ever encountered.

 _-roaring tall aliens skewering innocent people on their swords-  
-the screams of alien fliers bombarding houses to rubble-  
-the terrified shouts of marines and civilians alike-  
_ - _the emerald flashes of alien weapons scorching themselves in his retinas forever-_  
-his family-"Florida, old chap!"

He awoke from his awake-nightmare with a start, and saw Wyoming standing before him, hands on hips. He was in armour, but his helmet was off. His eyebrows were bunched in concern, and one hand went up to stroke his moustache. "Are you quite alright, mate? You look…flustered."

"Oh, me?" Florida did his best to shake off the grisly thoughts and treated the other man to one of his biggest smiles. "Not to worry! Just not the best go of it in the training room. Those hand-to-hand sims are a doozy and a half." He sat down on a bench and pulled off his gloves.

To his surprise, Wyoming went and sat alongside him, nodding fervently. "You're bloody right about that. Personally, I don't see what the fuss is about. We all have our specialties, hmm? We can leave the up-close-and-personal work to brutes like Pennsylvania, whilst sneaky fellows like you and I get the real work done."

He winked and laughed heartily. Florida found himself doing the same, despite the fact he wasn't sure calling Penn a brute was nice, though definitely deserved. It sure was a nice way of looking at it! "You've got something there, Wyoming. There are plenty of us around anyhow, we should be fine, right?"

"Right you are, old chap. The Director can't always get what he wants, after all." He stood up, and slapped his haunches. "I'm due for a spot of hand-to-hand myself, but later on we should team up on a stealth drill. What do you say? I think we'd work rather well together."

Boy, what a nice offer! Florida clasped Wyoming's alabaster-sheathed hand and shook. "That sounds terrific!"

"Excellent." The door slid open, and Wyoming slotted his helmet onto his head. "Must go now, "he said briskly, "but I'll see you later. Cheerio!" And with that, he stepped into the training room and was gone.

Florida grinned a little bit. Wyoming sure was different once you got past all his nose-in-the-air behaviour and actually talked to him. Maybe not the nicest fella as far as everyone was concerned, but good enough in his book!

Suddenly, F.I.L.S.S.' blue avatar lit up in a small sconce above his head. " _Agent Florida, your presence is required in the briefing room. The Director is preparing a mission briefing. Ensure you have your armour with you. Have a nice day!"_ The avatar winked off.

A new mission! How exciting! Hopefully, he reflected, it would go a heck of a lot better than the last. But hey, last time had been a big ol' muddle, right? This time, he knew, Project Freelancer would take to their task like a duck to water and pass with flying colours!

He padded out of the training room, reached the elevator and pressed the button that would lead back to the floor where his room was located. It was time to get down and dirty!

 


	23. Stealth Mode

**Chapter Twenty-Two - Stealth Mode**

**Agent Massachusetts**

**Written by Ayane458**

* * *

" _You want stealth? Be a rogue in 'World of Warcraft'."_ – John Romero

* * *

The ride was bumpy.

Massa wasn't particularly afraid of flying. Even if she ever had been, you got used to it in their line of work, where Pelicans are a primary form of transport. But today, she knew her knuckles were white as they gripped the bar keeping her in her seat. Naturally, she didn't let any of this show on the surface – Carolina was _right there_ , and the woman hardly needed any more ammunition when it came to insulting her.

So Massa sat, only wincing when her head hit the back of her seat too hard after a particularly violent jolt of the plane, and just waited for them to land, damn it.

When they did land with a shudder, and the bay door opened, the reason for their bumpy descent became clear.

"Jesus," Virginia murmured. Carolina stoically left her seat, moving to grab her weapons. Massa sighed and did the same.

"Welcome to Sidewinder, ladies," 479er called, "now get out before my bird gets buried."

Massa cracked a grin that went unseen. "See you later, ma'am," she called back, hopping off the ramp and landing in the snow that instantly swallowed her up, knee deep. She guessed that it would be easier to walk in without the metric ton armour she was wearing, if colder.

"Lovely place," Massa declared cheerfully. She was only half kidding.

Massa had been born in Queensland, Australia. No snow. Ever.

Perhaps not the best first exposure to bitingly cold weather, but it still looked fascinating to Massa. Very white and falling very fast, barely a trace of colour in sight as flakes whipped to and fro with the wind and all sound seemingly absorbed into the surroundings.

"I'll take you again for a holiday sometime," Virginia quipped, and the two shared a quick smile.

"Enough, you two," Carolina snapped, completely ruining the nice friendly bonding moment as 479er took off once again. Carolina looked to the north, where very faint lights could be seen shining through the heavy snow. Their target, the Blue base of Sidewinder. "Our objective is–"

"–to take out the Blue leader without alerting any guards," Virginia finished, effectively cutting off Carolina's first attempt at taking complete control of the mission. She was the team leader, and Massa did follow the chain of command, but even she had to agree that Carolina seemed a little too insecure about her position. Perhaps being kicked down to number two (and placed on a mission with number three, her direct competition) was a bit unsettling to her.

"Can we walk and talk, ladies?" Massa asked. "I have no desire to get myself frozen out here." She shook off snow that was quickly piling up around her legs to illustrate her point. Virginia made a slight motion that Massa believed meant she was rolling her eyes under her helmet, while Carolina seemed to narrow her eyes just the tiniest bit.

Massa gave it a week, tops, before she tired of Carolina's attitude.

Nevertheless, Carolina gestured for them all to start moving towards the faint, glimmering lights in the distance. Massa could see that they primarily came from (what she assumed to be, barring any rises or dips in the snow obscuring her view) the ground floor, with a few a storey up. Bringing to mind previous bases she'd seen, this one probably had the standard build –one floor, plus a roof with cover and turrets provided.

It quickly became evident that Massa's assumptions were correct.

Guards would have a brilliant, 360° view on any incoming hostiles from their positions on the base's roof, with the ability spray the surrounding area with turret fire in case of an attack… if any guards had been paying attention to anything other than their freezing hands and whining.

"C'mon, no one's really this stupid," Massa muttered, absolutely certain it was a set-up.

"Massa, I think you've yet to learn the kind of loyalty that being stuck in the ass-crack of nowhere on minimum wage for months inspires," Virginia noted dryly. Carolina seemed to agree with this statement, as she didn't have many qualms about walking _right up_ to the wall of the base.

To be fair, she did take all the usual precautions –staying low, out of view of windows, etc., etc… but nothing special.

Massa and Virginia followed, Massa very aware of the green armour she wore and how it would stand out against the snow. There was limited visibility out here, but get close enough with this white background no one could miss her.

As the three women ducked against the curved wall, the lights of the windows mere metres away and the quiet drone of the guards' voices drifting down from the roof, Massa tried to shake those thoughts away. So stealth wasn't her strong suit and she was a little out of her comfort zone here. Didn't mean she had to be so bloody paranoid…

"Not a single guard inside can be alerted of our presence," Carolina hissed. "We go onto the roof and take down the guards quickly and _quietly_. Understood?"

"How many are up there?" Virginia asked.

"I can't tell from trackers," Massa informed them, eying the red dots scattered across her HUD. Trackers told you how many were in the general area. No indication of elevation or anything like that.

Carolina sighed a little dramatically, and Massa raised an unseen eyebrow. Virginia just wearily stared at her through the visor.

"Four up top," she declared. "I took a look while we were further back."

"Visibility's bad," Massa pointed out. "Are you sure you saw them all?" As soon as the question left her mouth, Massa predicted the slight twitch Carolina gave in response and the cruel stare that was somehow only partially hidden by the visor.

"I'm _sure_ ," Carolina replied, nodded her head slowly as if talking to a small child. Massa felt the very sincere urge to throw the mission and toss Carolina in through the window for the Blue troops to handle, but she hadn't gotten through several years of medical school and UNSC training by being impulsive.

"Massa, you're not very experienced in stealth, right?" Virginia asked, casting a warning glance at Carolina in case she would pipe up again. "Maybe you stay on the edge take out a few with your pistol."

Massa nodded, hoping Carolina wouldn't jump on her for that. Carolina seemed to naturally excel at most things, sneaking being one of them. She had no idea where on Earth (or wherever) Virginia had acquired her skills, but she had them. Massa knew that here, she was the weakest link. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

Carolina and Virginia, in a rare moment of agreement, separated opposite ways to find the most convenient place to get onto the roof without getting in each other's way.

A window surrounded by a ledge provided Massa with ample height to peak over the edge of the roof, careful to keep her head down and her feet up –the last thing she needed was for some idiot drinking nice warm cocoa to see her foot dangling from above the window.

She pulled her pistol from its holster and scanned the rooftop. Four guards, like Carolina had said, and one of them was quite near her. None were paying attention, though, as they were all whining about being put on guard duty in the snow. A brief flash of green from her right alerted her to Virginia's presence. She couldn't see Carolina, but a muffled voice over the radio let her know she was ready.

" **Take them out** ," Carolina hissed, and Massa didn't hesitate.

The silencer did its job well, only a muffled thump escaping the gun barrel as she fired at the guard closest to her. He fell silently, his armour lock activating and muting any curses he might have said.

Before any of the other three could yell, Carolina and Virginia hopped up onto the roof and attacked. Carolina hit the gun from one's hand and followed by pounding his head into the ground, shooting him before he could get up.

Virginia grabbed one by the arm and spun her around, taking her down with a shot to the stomach.

Massa finished off the last one with another two shots while the others were busy, lifting herself up onto the rooftop after he had fallen.

It had taken roughly fifteen seconds to take down all four guards.

Virginia went to work arranging them in vaguely natural positions, as if they'd all decided to nod off on the job. That was fairly possible in this place, so it probably wouldn't cause too much suspicion if no one looked too closely.

Carolina gestured Massa over to the open stairway leading down into the base. Disgruntled voices drifted up, indicating the presence of at least two. Massa topped up her Magnum, not wanting to be caught with too little bullets.

Virginia approached them, Carolina nodding to the stairway as she came. Virginia shrugged, crouching and silently making her way down the stairs to the inside of the base. She slowly put her head around the corner, shoulders hunching a bit –annoyance. She wasn't able to see them from that angle. She crept to the opposite end of the corridor and examined the same area from where she was now. She looked back up the stairway and help up three fingers. Three targets, that she could see.

Carolina and Massa followed her down, and they each took up positions in the hallway where they wouldn't easily be seen. Not that there was anyone to see them. Seriously, what the heck was up with these guys? Shouldn't they be patrolling the hallways or something? Whatever, idiots. _Their rookie mistakes, our easy win._

Through the open door a little down the hallway, it was fairly easy to see three Blues sitting around the table, playing a game of cards and one occasionally laughing uproariously. The three women exchanged glances before lifting up their guns as one and firing two shots each. The three soldiers' heads hit the table. One rolled off onto the floor.

Virginia tilted her head to the side. "Shouldn't this be harder?" she murmured.

"There is a time and place for paranoia and suspicion," Carolina said, "this isn't it."

Before Virginia could snap back, Massa smoothly cut in with, "I believe that means there's no trap set. These people are just that dumb."

Carolina nodded in approval –something Massa had mixed feelings about –and the three continued on.

"How many more can we expect?" Massa asked, looking around the empty corridors at a T-intersection. From previous missions, she suspected the number wasn't much. Seven was already a fairly large number for one base.

"I'd say no more than four, including the leader," Carolina said decidedly. Massa doubted she would've been able to hear her speak without the comm link. Massa should've thought of that – they only had to speak as loud as what would be picked up by their radios. Anything more could risk others hearing.

Virginia hushed them. Carolina was about to take it as an insult and chew her out, but Massa made a motion of hearing something (she couldn't hear anything, but Virginia sure looked like she could) and Carolina turned her attention to the right corridor.

Very, very faint voices began to register with Massa. The three exchanged quick glances, and Carolina took point down the corridor, M6G at the ready.

Massa focused on staying quiet and as out of the way as possible. She highly doubted _real_ stealth missions would be quite so simple –there would be better security, more troops and an objective that was important. Because of that, she tried to make a show of being cautious and quiet.

As the voices got clearer, Massa paid attention to the tone and let the other two worry about direction.

Three of them, once again. One voice was fairly dry, sort of amused. Another was high-pitched and scared. Not as if they thought their life was truly in danger and that the Freelancers' presence had been betrayed, just as if that was their natural state of being. The third was… it reminded Massa of Carolina's voice, in a way. Trying a bit too hard to be authoritative.

The leader, she presumed.

"Does this next bit truly require stealth?" Virginia asked honestly.

Carolina shrugged. Massa translated that to: _does it truly_ not _require stealth_?

The next door down was the source of the voices. The three Freelancers had flattened themselves against the adjacent wall, listening in.

"I'm guessing the leader is the guy who keeps saying 'I'm in charge'," Carolina surmised.

"I wouldn't bet against it," Massa agreed.

Carolina quickly spun to the other side of the hall and shot three times through the door. The voices stopped and there was a definite thump.

After a second of silence, one voice started up again.

"Oh God, _sir!_ Oh my, Zsasz, did you see that? She just–" Virginia made the executive decision to shut that guy up.

Massa cautiously joined the other two at their position staring into the room. The third man –Zsasz –stared back unflinchingly.

"Hello, ladies," he greeted, raising a glass of what Massa assumed was apple juice to them.

"Aren't you going to try and shoot us?" Massa inquired, hands on her hips because the other two were already itching to shoot him before he could move an inch.

"Nope, no point," he replied sweetly. "Tell ya what, though. How about we get this over with? The suspense is just _killing_ me."

Massa and Virginia glanced at each other briefly while Carolina just stared.

"Ok then," Massa shrugged and shot him herself, as the other two seemed to not be all that bothered.

"That was strange," Massa said, holstering her pistol.

"Did he know these things aren't lethal or was he just going down with a smile?" Virginia asked breezily, turning around and making her way back down the hall.

Carolina radioed in, declaring their objective achieved and their mission a success.

Well then, that was her first stealth mission as a part of Project Freelancer. Rather anticlimactic, to be frank.

 


	24. Knock-Knock

**Chapter Twenty-Three - Knock-Knock**

**Agent Wyoming**

**Written by NicKenny**

* * *

_"Common sense and a sense of humor are the same thing, moving at different speeds. A sense of humor is just common sense, dancing."_ \- William James

* * *

Wyoming was bored.

Normally, he'd have been pumped up with adrenaline for this simulation mission, despite the fact that, since the second one where Penn had been shot, there hadn't been any real upsets or injuries. Indeed, the last few had been a walk in the park, and ever since the mission to Sidewinder, which Wyoming hadn't taken part in, evening the teams due to Penn's incapacitation, the agents had pretty much strolled through their missions, no matter what challenges the Director or the Counselor had thrown at them. Indeed, Wyoming was starting to question the sanity of these sim troopers (their intelligence and ability had been thrown out from the start).

For example, when you capture an enemy and bring him into your base, who allows that same enemy to keep his armour and handcuffs him to a chair that even a non-Freelancer could break with ease? Wyoming hadn't been overly fond of the idea of allowing himself to be captured, particularly considering the fact that the sims had been issued live rounds, but the Director had assured he would not be harmed, and Wyoming was consoled slightly by the fact that Florida would be captured by the other group of sim troopers.

At least he had a good companion for the flight over. The pilot, whatever her name was, had never been particularly fond of him. Apparently her pelican was a no joke zone. He hadn't even gotten to the one about the rabbi and the priest eating at a restaurant before she had threatened to eject him.

Oh well, some people just didn't appreciate a good joke.

So here he was, cuffed to a chair with handcuffs that we had broken out of hours ago, surrounded by three red idiots who couldn't tell their knees from their elbows. This mightn't even be an exaggeration. In an attempt to amuse himself Wyoming had started cracking jokes a while back, but the sim troopers didn't appear to appreciate them much more than the pilot had.

"Knock-knock."

"WHAT?!" the one nearest to him screamed, spinning around to face him. "For God's sake, what is it this time?!"

Wyoming frowned, although his helmet prevented the reds from seeing it, so he slowly repeated his previous two words, his voice oozing with disdain.

"Knock. Knock."

"Who's there?" the soldier said wearily, evidently having heard dozens upon dozens of these jokes already.

"Boo."

The soldier sighed, knowing where this was going, but resigned to the fact that this was going to happen, whether he liked it or not.

"Boo who?"

Wyoming chortled in delight. "No need to cry, old chap. It's just a joke!"

One of the soldiers at the far side of the room began thumping his helmet into the wall. "For god's sake, SHUT UP!"

Wyoming grinned, and his amusement could easily be heard in his voice. "Doesn't look like anyone in this room has a sense of humour on them, does it boys?" The three soldiers stared at him, each contemplating murder, despite the orders their sergeant had given them. "Say, has anyone heard the one about the young priest and the prostitute?"

No one looked at him. The third soldier, who had been quiet up until now, was beginning to twitch. The silence went one for a few minutes, and Wyoming sighed.

"Come on, chaps. Someone be a sport. Just trying to kill some time here."

The first soldier, shaking slightly, stood up and turned around to face him.

"Ah, there's a good fellow. What does a ghost wear when it's raining outside?"

The soldier stared at him for a moment, then looked away. His two companions remained where they were, one still thumping his head off the wall, the other, still twitching, was pacing back and forth, staring at the ground.

Wyoming repeated his question, staring fixedly at the soldier nearest to him, who looked up and miserably asked: "What?"

"Booooooooooooooooooots!" Wyoming triumphantly exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. The two soldiers spun around to glare at him, all of them beginning to shake uncontrollably. "I'm going to fucking kill him," one of them murmured to himself, his hands curling into fists.

"Okay boys, how about one more? Just this last one, I promise! Knock-knock."

One of the soldiers, his voice trembling, managed to reply as he slowly made his way towards Wyoming, the other two joining him. "Who's there?"

"Interrupting sheep."

His voice continuing to quaver, the same soldier managed to ask: "Interrupti-", before Wyoming suddenly interrupting him with an echoing "BAAAA!" followed by a long, victorious chuckle. The soldiers glanced at one another, telepathically communicating their shared desires to ignore their orders, just this one time, and throttle the life out of the man they were guarding.

"Knock-knock."

One of the soldiers stretched out his hand, pointing at Wyoming's visor. "You said that was the last one. You said. That. Was the last one."

"Dreadfully sorry old chap, but it would appear that I _lied_." Wyoming cheerfully replied, demonstrating a mirth that would have challenged Florida's.

"No," the second soldier murmured. "You can't do that. It's over. NO MORE JOKES!"

"No need to raise your voice, I'm right here."

The soldier leaned towards Wyoming, until their visors lightly touched off one another. "No. More. Jokes."

Wyoming nodded, appearing to be awed by the sheer display of masculinity and aggression that was before him. "Of course, of course."

The soldier leaned back, and they all sighed, rolling their shoulders back and appearing to relax. They slowly made their way back to their previous positions, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this time he would shut up.

"Knock-knock."

They froze, each of them shaking furiously. As one, they spun around, and the one nearest to Wyoming said, in a voice as shaky as the vibrations that were convulsing through his body, screamed at him. "I AM GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU STUPID. FUCKING. COCKBITE!"

At that moment the door, which had been sealed and firmly locked, buckled underneath some sort of assault, the _boom_ echoing throughout the small room. The soldier froze in the act of beginning to strangling Wyoming at looked at one another. Wyoming, in a calm voice, repeated himself once more. "Knock-knock."

Another _boom_ echoed, and the frame of the door shook, groaning under the pressure being exerted on the other side. One of the sim troopers gulped, and fearfully asked, in a voice as fragile as china: "Who's there?"

Wyoming began to laugh as the door flew off its hinges, slamming into one of the sim troopers and sending him sprawling onto the ground, unconscious. Other two raised their weapons as Penn's enormous frame strode into the room, his assault rifle on his back, casually observing the two soldiers facing him.

"Pain," Wyoming answered, as he stood up, shaking free of his cuffs, picking up the chair as he rose and slamming it into the back of one of the sim troopers, knocking him out immediately. The other sim trooper gaped at him, then turned back to Penn, who was slowly walking up to him. The red raised his battle rifle, but before he was able to fire it Penn's fist had shot forward, sending the trooper flying into the wall, which he slammed into and slowly slid down, moaning quietly.

Virginia strode through the opened doorway, tossing Wyoming her sniper rifle, which he caught deftly and quickly checked its chamber, making sure that it was loaded. Virginia walked past the two male agents, drawing her magnum and pointing it towards the red that Penn had just punched, pulling the trigger and sending him into armour lock.

Wyoming, satisfied that the rifle was loaded, hefted it over his shoulder and grinned. "What took you so long?" he asked, glancing from Pennsylvania to Virginia.

Virginia shrugged. "Stealth mission. Couldn't set off the alarms. Course, Penn still decided to punch his way through the door, rather than allowing Carolina to hack the control panel, but thankfully these sim troopers are dumb as hell."

Penn chuckled, looking at the mangled door at the far side of the room, an unconscious red pinned underneath it. "It did the job, didn't it? And it saved us some time."

Wyoming nodded, whistling appreciatively to himself. "And where is our precious Number One now?"

Carolina had reclaimed her number one status from York a while back, which had initially irritated Wyoming, but the longer he spent in her company, the more he realised that he would never be at her level. Sure, he was still one of the highest ranking agents in the project, but Carolina was far, far out of his league. However, he was starting to think he could live with that.

"She's outside, setting charges." Penn answered, waving away Wyoming's question before he could even ask it. "We were only unable to set off alarms until we had rescued you. Now, we can make all the noise we want, providing we don't allow ourselves to get shot."

"Do you think you'll be able to manage that?" Virginia asked him, sarcastically, and Penn seemed to glare at her from beneath his visor.

"Funny," he muttered, although his tone suggested that he thought it was anything but. "And – forgive me for asking – but, despite the fact that I was booted to the bottom of the leaderboard after I got shot – who is currently fourth on the leaderboard, and who is – what was it again – sixth?"

Virginia was now the one appearing to glare, and Wyoming was worried that he might have to step in if they were going to complete this mission, when Carolina's voice suddenly rang out over their radios.

" **Charges are set. Things are about to get loud. I'll make my own way out and we'll rendezvous at the LZ, sync?"**

"Sync!" the three of them replied, already moving out the door as the base suddenly shook, the ground trembling beneath them as several explosions suddenly rang out across the compound. The base was filled with the screams and wailing of a good dozen sim troopers, who all made their way to the source of the explosions, taking them away from the path the freelancers had to take in order to make it to the landing zone.

The agents burst out maze of corridors that surrounded the base, Wyoming quipping "Ah, that's why they called it Rat's Nest!" They hopped into their pelican, Wyoming receiving a frosty nod from their female pilot.

"Is Carolina on-board?" Penn yelled up to her, and growled angrily when he received a negative response.

Wyoming sighed, and cursed as he saw the other team suddenly burst out from their respective side, heading for their pelican. Penn snarled, and seemed prepared to jump out in order to hold them off, but suddenly a hand shot out and pushed him back, as Carolina calmly sprang up into the pelican. "Get us out of here!" she yelled at their pilot, making her way to the co-pilot seat.

Wyoming and Virginia shared a knowing look, both rolling their eyes beneath their visors. _Typical Carolina,_ Wyoming mused. _Always leaving things to the last second._

The three agents sat down in their seats and pulled down their harnesses as the pelican's engines fired up and their pilot lifted off. Wyoming grinned at the other two, although of course they couldn't tell, and chuckled slightly to himself, pleased by their victory, and by the way the other two held themselves, he could tell they were too.

"So," he began, breaking the silence. "Anyone up for a knock-knock joke?"

 


	25. Calm Before The Storm

**Chapter Twenty-Four - Calm Before the Storm**

**Agent Virginia**

**Written by anna1795**

* * *

_"By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest."_ \- Confucius

* * *

To Virginia, the armour that she wore was for protection and security in combat situations. She wasn't like some of the other Freelancers who could be in their armour for days on end, it seemed like. The enclosed metal casing got to her after a few hours and made her feel twitchy. It was hot and dank in the armour, despite climate control systems that could be moderated. She much preferred the outfit that she had changed into for their night off; a set of black sweatpants, a black tank top, and a sweater tied around her waist. A set of weathered, fingerless black gloves adorned her hands as they swung loosely at her side on her way to the training room. York was having a party upstairs in the rec room, but she wasn't in the mood tonight.

" _Good evening, Agent Virginia,_ " F.I.L.S.S.' voice crackled over the speaker above the rec room door as Virginia stood in front of it.

"Evening, F.I.L.S.S.," she responded politely. "May I please use the training room this evening?"

" _The training room is currently vacant, Agent, but I must discourage your use of the room. You are not dressed in the proper attire for the training programs that you prefer to use,"_ the ship's AI said gently, like a parent speaking to their child. Virginia tugged open her locker beside the door and extricated a hard case from within.

"I'll be using a different program tonight, F.I.L.S.S.," Virginia responded as she went back to the door. "Just tangible targets and varying environment factors, please."

" _Please wait for confirmation…you have been cleared, Agent Virginia. Please be notified that this training session may be recorded to be placed in your file for future review._ " The door opened to admit her, and Virginia sauntered into the empty room. The table of weapons popped up from the floor, but Virginia ignored them and opened the case she had brought in with her. Tenderly, she scooped up the black fiberglass equipment and set it up, the metallic-based string bringing the fiberglass to a smooth, swan-like curve. She felt along the fiberglass for cracks and nicks in the material, remembering some of the memories that came along with the pauses of the pads of her fingers on the bow.

" _Congratulations, sis! You'll be just like Hawkeye!_ "

" _I'm not gonna be some super hero, Jennie. I'm just going to be a soldier._ "

Slinging the quiver strap around her waist, she stood up straight and called out for F.I.L.S.S. to send in the targets.

" _Initiating training session in 3…2…1…round begin."_

Clay targets on poles started flying all around the room in random patters, criss-crossing with each other and speeding away just as quickly. Virginia notched an arrow into the bow string, found a target, and let the arrow fly. It struck the target a few inches from the centre and sent the clay flying from the top of the pole. Not satisfied, Virginia drew another arrow and set it into the weapon, pulling the string back as she found another target, and she let the arrow fly.

_"Agents, your performance on that last mission was quite satisfactory. Given your parameters, you utilized your unique abilities and executed the given task with proficient results," the Director droned as they stood at attention in a neat line in the briefing room._

_"Thank you, sir!" They parroted back. For some reason, the words tasted slightly bitter on Virginia's tongue._

_"Counsellor, if you will update the board," the bespectacled man nodded to the Counselor, who made a few notes on his electronic pad and looked up at the screen. They all turned their heads as one to see._

_Carolina_

_York_

_Pennsylvania_

_Wyoming_

_Virginia_

_Alaska_

_Massachusetts_

_Florida_

_They all stared at the results, and Virginia nodded her head slightly at the results. 5thplace was not bad, not bad at all. She was making a name for herself, and she'd keep doing so. There were a few restless murmurs on either side of her, but nobody was actually saying anything too loudly. For the most part, they seemed satisfied…for now._

" _You are all dismissed," the Director said after a minute, "except for Virginia. I would like you speak with you for a moment." The other Freelancers filed out the door, with a few turning their visored heads to look back at Virginia. She could tell that Massa's and Florida's faces would have been concerned yet encouraging. Carolina's…jealousy, or would that have been a smirk?_

" _Agent Virginia, I trust that you remember that conversation that we had a small time ago," the Director paced back and forth in front of her._

" _Yes sir. I do remember," Virginia replied politely. The Director stopped in front of her._

" _You have been making progress and showing me what you are capable of, but this elevated rank is no reason for you to become lax in honing your abilities, Agent. You were brought here to push the boundaries of what you are capable of doing, and you've barely begun to scratch the surface."_

_Virginia felt her face grow warm under the helmet. What exactly was this man asking for? Still, best to play the part of the obedient soldier and avoid trouble. "I understand, sir."_

" _I would advise you to continue to hone some of your more…unique skills in your spare time. It will prove useful to your training and your missions."_

" _Yes, sir."_

" _One more thing, Agent." The Director reached over to a desk and withdrew a small letter from it. "I felt that I should be the one to give this to you." He handed the letter to her, and she took it gingerly. The scrawling cursive on the front was very familiar, a handwriting that she had known throughout all her life._

" _Thank you, sir," Virginia said gratefully, storing the letter for later._

" _You are dismissed, Agent," the Director granted her leave, and Virginia deliberately slowed her steps down to appear calm and collected as she left the room finally._

One of her arrows struck the wall as the ground under Virginia's feet shifted, and she cursed softly before adjusting her stance to accommodate for the pillars rising up from the floor. She pulled a sort of hopscotch move as she chased after a cluster of clay targets, drawing another arrow from her quiver.

" _Hey, Virginia!" Virginia whipped around to see Carolina approaching her from the other end of the locker room. The red haired woman was out of her armour already, dressed in a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Virginia kept taking off pieces of her armour carefully, storing them in her locker around the long, hard case that she had stored in there._

" _What?" she asked in a neutral tone. Carolina did not look happy. Then again, she never did._

" _What was the Director talking to you about?" Wow, straight to the point._

" _None of your business," Virginia replied, stashing her gauntlets next to her boots. Carolina apparently didn't like the answer, because her hand slammed into her locker door and it flew shut with a crash. The force of the impact had destabilized the shoddy shelves and sent Virginia's armor flying through the locker._

" _It's none of your business what I talk about with the Director, Carolina," Virginia snapped, staring evenly into Carolina's blazing green eyes. A piece of neon blue hair from her one highlight fell over her eyes, but she didn't care._

" _It does if it threatens how we work as a team-"_

" _If it really DID matter, Carolina, the Director would have told everyone, wouldn't he have?" Virginia growled, folding her arms. "If it was a threat to anything, he would've let the others know. However, it's nothing to concern you guys about. What happens between me and the Director stays that way unless he tells you for himself. You won't hear it from me."_

_Carolina didn't say anything. Her face was blank, but her eyes still seemed to burn holes in Virginia's face. Finally, she gave a shallow breath._

" _Just remember who's number one up on that leaderboard."_

" _Good for you. Don't remind me, I'm happy where I am."_

" _Good." With a tone of finality, Carolina whipped around and stalked off, leaving Virginia with the task of opening up her dented locker door._

Another two arrows embedded themselves in the wall. With a snarl, Virginia tore them out viciously and fired one at the last two targets zipping around the field. It struck them both at once, concluding the exercise.

" _You had an overall accuracy rate of 76%, Agent Virginia,_ " F.I.L.S.S. dutifully reported.

"Run it again, F.I.L.S.S.," Virginia called up to the AI, picking up her arrows.

"No, F.I.L.S.S., you don't have to," another voice spoke from the training room door. Startled, Virginia got ready to let an arrow fly at the intruder, who threw up his hands at her reaction.

"Easy, easy," York pacified the agitated woman, walking into the room. Florida and Massa followed suit, carrying a couple bottles of beer and a large bag of popcorn.

"We saw you weren't up at the party," Massa explained. "Figured we'd stop by and invite you up."

"Thanks, but I don't think I could deal with that many people for right now," Virginia explained, sheathing her arrow in its quiver and setting the equipment aside.

"We figured you'd say that, so we brought the party to you, pal," Florida said cheerily, handing her a beer. Virginia took the bottle with a small smile. Florida's antics always seemed to cheer her up, and his smile was contagious.

"Guess there weren't many RSVPs," she joked, taking a small swig and leaning against one of the pillars that hadn't receded back into the floor.

"Al and Penn are busy doing…whatever they do, and Carolina is about to strangle Wyoming because of all his knock-knock jokes," York explained, sitting on the floor, the others followed suit, and Virginia finally settled down in a cross-legged position. There was a period of awkward silence.

"Nice archery there," Florida finally said after a while.

"Thanks," Virginia nodded her head. "Just practicing a bit. I haven't in a while. I usually have a higher accuracy rate. "

"That was only practicing?!" Massa asked incredulously. "It was amazing!" The others agreed loudly, and Virginia ducked her head.

"Where did you learn something like that?" York asked. "I didn't think that archery was something the military used anymore."

"They don't," Virginia agreed, then thought for a moment. "Or, rather, not really. You'll get your odd black ops or Green Beret groups that'll use that type of method, and that's WAY out in the Outer Colonies, where we don't see as much of the…action that you Inner guys get. Where I come from, the tech isn't as good, and we make do with what we have."

"So, you learned it in special ops?" York asked, his eyebrows rising in amazement.

"I didn't say that," Virginia smirked. "No, nothing so fancy. It's just an old family skill. I learned it from my aunt when she was taking me out of school on some days." She seemed lost in thought for a moment, her eyes getting misty.

" _You place your hands here and here, and you pull the string back…"_

" _I'm doing it, Auntie, I'm doing it!_ "

She shook her head slightly, coming back from a trip down memory lane. "The point is, it's damn useful."

"Did your sister learn to shoot like you?" Massa asked. Virginia's head whipped around to stare at her roommate, who didn't meet her eyes. "I saw a picture of you and another person by your bed, and you left a letter on the mattress. I just thought…"

"It's fine, Massa," Virginia sighed, appeasing her well-meaning roommate. "No, she didn't. She learned other skills that work better for her. I just learned the quiet stuff, like my tracking and sabotage skills."

"You're just like Jazz," York said excitedly. Massa and Florida looked slightly confused, but Virginia actually seemed to know what he was talking about. "You know…that old cartoon show…The Transformers?"

"That's funny, I never had that nickname," Virginia chuckled. "My old unit called me Bluestreak because of my hair and spec ops skills." She fingered the neon blue streak in her hair.

"But what's your _actual_ name, then?" Florida asked. "Like, mine is Butch, everyone knows that."

"Man, you know the rules!" York complained, face palming. "We can't say what our names are. We've got new names now!"

Virginia watched the exchange and shared a glance with Massa. "I just never really share my name with anyone," she admitted finally. "I go by nicknames. Virginia is a nice one, and Bluestreak was fun. Kind of easy to shout during missions, actually."

At that moment, the lights in the training room began flashing, and alarms were blaring. They all stood up as one, looking around to see what was going on.

"You just HAD to say something, didn't you?" York asked Virginia jokingly, and she shrugged. F.I.L.S.S.' voice echoed across the loudspeakers.

" _All personnel, please report to stations and remain on standby. All Freelancer Agents, report to the bridge immediately._ "

"Let's not keep the old man waiting," Massa pointed out, and they ran into the locker room off the training room, leaving their party supplies behind. They ran to their lockers and yanked them open, slipping into their black under armour. Massa and Virginia were helping each other strap into their armour when Carolina ran in, already in her gear.

"Hurry up, ladies," she barked, slipping her helmet on. "We haven't got all day."

"What's going on, Carolina?!" Massa shouted over the alarms. Carolina just shook her head and ran out again. The two women looked at each other before slipping on their own helmets and running after the aquamarine-armoured agent. The rest of the Freelancers joined the three women, all just in their armour (Wyoming was still trying to strap on his boots as he ran). Soldiers ran past them on the way to their stations, acting frantic and tense. They spared no passing glance at the Freelancers running for the Director, they all knew where they were needed.

Carolina couldn't punch in the code to access the bridge fast enough, and the door seemed to open agonizingly slowly. As soon as the crack was wide enough, they hustled inside and stood at attention as the Director leaned over the holographic table, examining a series of holograms. Very briefly, Virginia recognized the _Mother of Invention_ as one of the holograms. The Counselor remained in the shadows, and both their superiors' faces looked ashen.

"Agents, the Counselor is finalizing the specific details of the situation, which will be uploaded to your armour after briefing," the Director spoke distractedly as a few of the holograms flashed scarlet. The ship rocked, and they shuffled to keep their balance.

"Sir, what is going on?" Penn demanded as he tried to find his balance on the rocking ship, flailing his arms and almost colliding into the ever-calm Alaska. The Director didn't say anything for a moment, then spoke a word that weighed on them like a tonne of bricks.

"War."

 


	26. War

**Chapter Twenty-Five - War**

**The Director**

**Written by NicKenny**  

* * *

 

" _Older men declare war. But it is the youth that must fight and die." –_ Herbert Hoover

* * *

 

I sat at my table, flicking through my report to the UNSC High Command, anxiously waiting for their response. My requests were bold, for an essentially untried project, but I had hopes that my previous services to the UNSC would sway them. I flicked onto the page displaying the profiles of the eight individuals whom I had requested to join the project, all accomplished soldiers within the UNSC, each and every one of them exceptional, supplying something to the project that we still required. Some of them had skills that other agents within the project already excelled at: sniping, lock-picking, brute strength, infiltration, demolition etc., while others supplied something new. Each and every one of them would provide something that the project required, and I had firm hopes that the UNSC would grant us the use of their services.

I had made several other requests, some great and some small, but the most important ones were those concerning the allocation of new personnel, allowance to establish several new bases on Eris, access to a particular set of equipment that was currently in development from some area of the UNSC, which I believed had great potential when combined with our agent's suits, and…something that I had once created for the UNSC, and wanted them to give us access to, knowing full-well the advantages that such an asset would grant us.

The Counselor stood at the bridge's observation deck, occasionally glancing up from his data-pad to look out into the depths of space. He had also supplied a report, supporting my demands, although I had feared at one stage that he might refuse to do so. Luckily, Agent Pennsylvania had managed to refrain from killing or seriously injuring any more of our personnel, so his anger was satiated for the time being. Indeed, Pennsylvania had shone over the past few months, and as a result had steadily climbed up the leaderboard into third place.

I glanced over at it, remembering revealing the new ranks to our agents a few days previously. The majority of them had accepted their places with good grace, although I could see that Alaska was still unsatisfied with being in the bottom half. I had ordered Virginia to remain afterwards, passing on a letter to her, and informing her that while I was pleased with her progress, there was still room for improvement.

I briefly wondered how our new agents, if we were granted them, would match up to our current ones. I found it hard to believe that any would be able to match Carolina, the sniping abilities of Wyoming, the infiltration skills of York and Virginia…

As for the brute strength of Pennsylvania, once, I would have thought that he had no match, but recently, after viewing the files of one of the men I hoped to recruit, I'm no longer so sure. That should be interesting, I mused, distracted in my speculation of the future.

I was snapped out of my trance by a soft cough from the Counselor, who had walked over to the table, unnoticed by me until now due to my lapse in concentration, a grave but slightly confused look on his face.

"Director, we have received a transmission from HIGHCOM," he murmured slowly, his eyes locked on mine. "General Petrarch wishes to speak to you, regarding a matter of great importance that he would not divulge to me."

I nodded eagerly, presuming that the General was messaging me solely due to my report and the requests I had made. It was only when his transmission was patched through, and I saw the grave look on his face, his grey eyes burning with a barely withheld fury, that I began to understand that the cause behind this transmission was something much more serious. The Counselor grudgingly exited the room after I ordered him to, clearly unhappy with being kept out of the loop.

"General," I began, smiling warmly. "I wasn't expecting such a speedy reply to my report. I do hope you and the rest of High Command have seen it fit to grant me my few, meagre requests."

The General merely frowned, shaking his head slowly. "We have received your report, Director Church, but that is not the sole reason behind this call, though I'll address your requests in a moment."

He paused and took a breath, glancing at a figure behind the camera, out of my field of vision, and raised his eyebrows, clearly signalling for that person to depart. After a few seconds his eyes refocused on mine, and, with a small sigh, he began speaking once more.

"Three days ago, Insurrectionists on the Outer-colony planet designated 'Haven' launched a full out assault on UNSC troops stationed there at the time, managing to push the main bulk of our men back into the capitol city of New Delphi. At the same time, using ships that had either been constructed from previously abandoned, crashed ships or constructed in secret using plans that they had obtained from one of our manufacturing facilities, the Insurrectionists established a blockade of the capitol, preventing us from getting either military or humanitarian aid to our troops. We only have minimal forces in the area to send in an attempt to liberate our men trapped down on that viper's nest, and we have no method of getting them onto the planet before our soldiers on the ground are over-run."

He paused again and took another deep breath, frowning heavily, the bags under his eyes becoming even more prominent at this angle. "That's where you come in."

I frowned, confused. "I'm sorry, General, but that sounded rather like an order, and I don't believe that you have the authority to give those. Project Freelancer was established as a military organisation affiliated to, but ultimately separated from, any other branch of the UNSC. The only orders that I am required to follow are those issued by the UNSC Security Committee."

The General's frown grew even more pronounced, and he spat out his next few sentences. "I am well aware of the status of you project, Director, believe me. And while, yes, I cannot give you orders, I can make requests. Just as you have made requests to us."

I leant back in my chair, suddenly aware of where this was going. "So, in return for the co-operation of my project, you will grant my requests?"

Petrarch sighed, holding his left hand to his brow. "We will grant you your requests for an increase in personnel, including doubling your number of agents. We will also agree to the establishment of five new simulation bases on Eris, but I have to express my doubts on whether a project such as yours truly has need for the number of bases that yours is currently running. Your other two requests, supplying your project with equipment that is still currently in development, and…the other matter, will remain under review for the time being, but I will put in a personal recommendation that you are given access to these assets."

I steepled my fingers, not entirely appeased by the General's offering, but…it was tempting. The added personnel in personnel in particular would be a bonus, particularly the new agents. I would have use for them, if the UNSC wanted to use us to combat Insurrectionists in the future. Although, of course, they were not the true enemy. They were not the enemies that Project Freelancer had been created to fight.

But one day, the Covenant would discover who we were. And on that day, they would bleed.

"I accept you request, General," I announced slowly, maintaining eye-contact. "But if you intend on using us against the Insurrection in the future, I will need access to those further requests. However, for now, I am satisfied with your offer. What do you need of Project Freelancer?"

Petrarch nodded, evidently relieved that I had agreed to his terms. I felt a sudden stab of regret, as I realised that they were evidently in more trouble than he had let on, and would probably have given in if I had dug in my heels. However, that opportunity had passed me by, so I dismissed my feelings of regret and paid attention as the General explained exactly what they needed my project to do, interjecting only here and there, when I had suggestions for how exactly we could accomplish these goals.

When we finished finalising plans for the mission the transmission ended, and I asked F.I.L.S.S. to summon the Counselor, who must have been waiting just outside the observation deck this entire time, as he strode through the doors within seconds.

"Can I ask what the transmission was about, Director?" he began before even giving me a chance to speak.

I rolled my eyes in mock-frustration and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "The good General had a few requests of his own to make, in return for granting some of ours."

The Counselor stared at me, waiting for me to inform him as to what exactly these requests entailed, but I just stared at him blankly, unspeaking.

"And these requests were?"

I smiled absentmindedly, standing up and walking past him over to the control panel. "He wants Project Freelancer to join the good fight against the Insurrection. He wants us to go to war."

While the Counselor struggled with this new information, I ordered F.I.L.S.S. to inform the agents that their presence was required in the bridge immediately, and to order personnel to their stations. After that I punched in the co-ordinates that the General had given me, and the ship lurched, beginning its journey to Haven."The General and I have made the necessary plans. He's asked us to liberate the currently besieged city of New Delphi on Harvest. Apparently we are the only UNSC forces near enough to support the small force he has assembled to reclaim the city from the Insurrectionists."

The Counselor nodded, his face twisting briefly as his mind swiftly digested these details and he began to hurriedly work on his data-pad, his fingers flying as he pulled up information beneficial to the mission. I walked over to the holographic table, summoning up images of Haven, New Delphi, the Insurrectionist blockade of the city, a UNSC Paris-class frigate and the _Mother of Invention_ herself.

I was staring at these, my mind sorting through the plan that myself and the General had agreed upon, when the agents made their way into the room, quickly making their way to the table and standing at attention as I stared at them, my face locked in an image of utter seriousness.

"Agents, the Counsellor is finalizing the specific details of the situation, which will be uploaded to your armour after briefing," I began, as several of the images flashed scarlet, due to the ship diverting power in order to open up a rift into slipspace.

The ship rocked as the Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine opened a hole into slipspace, the first time we had utilised the MOI's engine. Several of the agents staggered unsteadily, with Agent Pennsylvania almost colliding with Alaska, asking "Sir, what is going on?" as he struggled to regain his balance.

I looked at the assembled agents for a moment, wondering how exactly to answer that question. In the end, I opted for simple honesty. "War."

I could see the implications of one simple word settling over the agents, and some part of me almost felt sorry for destroying their brief chapter of innocence. However, these emotions quickly passed, and I glanced over to the Counselor, who indicated that the files had been successfully uploaded, so I began the briefing, the images for Haven, New Delphi and the Insurrectionist blockade expanding above the table as I mentioned them.

"Three days ago, the capitol city of the Outer-Colony planter Haven, New Delphi, was besieged by Insurrectionist forces known as the Unified Revolutionary Front. We have been asked by the UNSC to assist their forces in liberating the city. The main problem that we face is that the city has been placed under a blockade by a fleet of Insurrectionist ships, so getting aid down to the UNSC in the city will be difficult."

I took a deep breathe, carrying on, despite the fact that several of the agents appeared to have questions, pulling up the images of both the MOI and the other UNSC vessel. "The _Mother of Invention_ will be aided by the Paris-class frigate _Soul of Tranquillity_ inbreaking the blockade. While we combat the Insurrection in space, you will be taken down by two pelicans to the planet's surface, using the battle as a distraction in order to slip past the blockade. You will have two objectives: Rendezvousing with UNSC forces in New Delphi and aiding them in the defence of the city, and tracking down and assassinating the Insurrectionist leader heading the assault."

Agent Carolina took this moment to speak, immediately taking control of the situation. "So we'll need two teams."

A statement, not a question.

I nodded, pulling back up the holographic image of the city. "Two Teams. Team A will consist of Carolina, York, Massachusetts, Florida and Virginia, with Team B consisting of Pennsylvania, Alaska and Wyoming. Team A's mission will concern the defence of the city, while Team B will perform the assassination."

I paused, staring at the collected agents, weighing them up in my mind. "Agent Carolina and Pennsylvania will lead their respective teams."

I could see the Counselor glance at me from the corner of my eye, clearly not satisfied with Penn's assignment as the leader of Team B, but I ignored him, concentrating on the image of the city before me. I couldn't help but notice the smug look that Penn shot Alaska, but I quelled the urge to reprimand him. Carolina took the announcement with a quiet confidence, no more than I would expect of her. "From the reports we have received, the local UNSC commander, Colonel Eric Grant, has established a base of operations here, in the heart of the city." Some parts of the city suddenly turned red, and some turned orange, but the vast majority remained a pure blue. "The red areas have been seized by the Insurrection, while the blue areas represent those still in control of the UNSC. The orange areas are currently being disputed by both parties."

Virginia spoke up, her eyes locked on mine. "So we're supposed to report to this Colonel Grant for orders?"

I shook my head slowly. "No," I replied, "Agent Carolina has been authorised to take control of the city's defence from him. You have been cleared as Level Zero, the ultimate level of clearance a soldier can receive. Project Freelancer will be running the defence from the ground, not the UNSC. We need you to organise the defences in order to hold out until we have eradicated their blockade, and Team B had time to locate and remove the Insurrectionist leader. At that point we will land personnel, along with military forces from the _Soul of Tranquillity,_ in the heart of the city, who will assist in routing the Insurrection."

The agents paused for a moment as they digested the information I had just presented to them. Eventually, Pennsylvania raised a hand. "How are we supposed to discover the name and whereabouts of their leader?" delicately skirting around the real question.

"Using whatever measures that you see fit, Pennsylvania. Whatever you need to do."

"Understood, sir," he murmured, and I had no doubt that he did, noticing Alaska's suddenly face light up next to him as the full meaning of my words suddenly became clear to him. I almost felt bad for this Insurrectionist, whoever he was, now that I had set Pennsylvania, Alaska and Wyoming on his tail.

"Then get to it, agents," I said, nodding to the doors behind them. "Good luck to you all."

_Teach them to fear the name Project Freelancer._


	27. First Contact

**Chapter Twenty-Six - First Contact**

**The Director & Killian Jay – Private First Class, Medic**

**Written by NicKenny & Casaric**

* * *

  _"War does not determine who is right- only who is left."_ \- Bertrand Russell

* * *

 The monitor flickered, and a dark haired, middle-aged man in full officer's uniform appeared in front of me. "This is Captain Vasquez of the UNSC frigate _Soul of Tranquillity_ ," he said, staring at me with a look of irritation. "I assume that I am talking to Director Leonard Church of Project Freelancer?"

I nodded, smiling slightly. "You're assumption is correct, Captain. It's a pleasure to be joining you today."

The Captain looked at me blankly. "All I've been told is that we've got to cause enough of a ruckus to distract these Innies and get your boys onto the planet's surface. After that my orders become rather vague. Care to shed some light on the situation?"

I raised a hand and slowly took of my glasses, absentmindedly wiping them off my suit's sleeve. "Of course, Captain. Once my 'boys' have landed safely, we are to destroy any and all Insurrectionist ships still in orbit. After that we are to land whatever soldiers we can spare on the planet to support the UNSC forces currently besieged."

Vasquez nodded slowly, a grim look descending over his features. "Then I guess we had better get this party started," he remarked darkly, and the monitor went blank once more.

* * *

 Killian Jay's occupation often called for him to assess things. Severity of wounds, levels of sanity, levels of stupidity, etc. Killian was currently assessing the blow to the side of the head he received via "ship-quake"... Attempting medicinal practices while your ship is under fire was a hell of a lot harder than it sounds.

Not counting the time it took getting over the blow to the head he received, Killian needed over half-an-hour to get a clean cut into his current patient, successfully removing the afflicted section of tissue. Plasma burns never heal right, so it was best to cut away the affected area before it started to scar.

"Now then, where's that g- oomf!" Killian was unfortunately interrupted by a very mobile equipment rack. To his knowledge, the _Mother of Invention_ was the only UNSC ship that offers Hazard pay to medics that weren't in the line of fire.

"Whoever thought it was a good idea to put wheels on all of the heavy objects in this room..." Killian muttered, heaving the rack away from him, and sending it rattling across the room, "was a jackass."

* * *

 "F.I.L.S.S. how are our shields holding up?" I asked sharply as the floor shook beneath me after a barrage of missiles crashed into our starboard side. I gazed out from the observation deck, looking in disgust upon the dozens of patchwork crafts the Insurrectionists had formed their blockade from. Already the _Soul of Tranquillity_ had torn its way through the heart of the fleet, and the _Mother of Invention_ was following in its wake, our cannons booming every so often as another Insurrectionist ship got within range.

"Shields are at eighty-three per cent, Director," she replied instantly, her voice as cheerful as ever.

"Excellent. Please keep me informed of our shields functionality at every tenth per cent, if you would be so kind."

* * *

 Killian spent hours moving from patient to patient, and it slowly became a haze of blood and Bio-foam. The whole process was almost habitual.

Killian might have taken a moment to contemplate on whether this was to be seen as fantastic or highly disturbing, if the amount of people requiring "treatment" didn't continue to climb at such an alarming rate. There were only so many medical staff on hand on board the MOI during an actual battle. While most stayed behind to deal with some of the more grievous wounds, others were sent out into the field to handle the other injuries.

Instead, he contemplated on the fact that there were a lot of hurt people in the room. This made Killian feel restless about his current situation. They were winning...right?

* * *

 "Shields at fifty-four per cent. I would also like to inform you that both teams have reached their locations and have exited their pelicans. Team B's pilot is making her way back into the city as we speak."

"Thank you F.I.L.S.S. Please inform Captain Vasquez that he has the go-ahead to cut up what's left of them," I replied, smiling as I leant back and surveyed the destruction that lay before me. A stray thought suddenly burst into my mind.

"F.I.L.S.S., can you get a lock onto any of their ships? I mean to test out our…main cannon."

F.I.L.S.S. was silent for a moment, then something in the control platform beeped and she replied: "Target locked, Insurrectionist frigate four thousand yards ahead."

There was another slight pause, accompanied by another beep and F.I.L.S.S. spoke once more, her voice containing a touch of satisfaction. "Firing main cannon."

* * *

 "...He's gone. Get him out of the operating room."

Killian tried not to look at the corpse. Another failure. Another life lost to their mistakes. ...Killian was pretty sure that he was going to have nightmares long after this was over.

* * *

 The Counselor gaped as the beam tore through the heart of the frigate, piercing its port side and continuing right through to the other. The ship seemed to collapse into a series of explosions after that, each more violent than the next, until all that was left was metal debris floating through space.

"Target eliminated," F.I.L.S.S. declared, and the smugness could easily be detected in her tone.

I looked out onto what was left of the Innies' fleet and smiled grimly.

_It wouldn't be long now._

* * *

 When he was finally pulled from the operating room, Killian wasn't sure if he felt relieved or scared. Everyone in there had been working for a while, on a lot of patients. Tired doctors leads to sloppy surgeries.

Maybe now they'll listen to his overtime complaints.

* * *

 "Three enemy ships remaining," F.I.L.S.S. intoned, answering my unasked question.

"Do you want them, or should we deal with them?" Vasquez asked tiredly across the comm-link. He had opened up transmissions again a short while ago, informing us that he had received orders to stand back and allow the MOI to wreak some damage towards the Insurrectionists fleet. We had stepped up to the challenge, our MAC firing again and again, leaving the opposing fleet a collection of burned out metal husks.

Obviously the UNSC wanted to see what we could do. Well, we were up to the challenge, but I was more concerned with my agents down on the ground than a measly few ships.

"You can have them, Captain. Consider it a gift from Project Freelancer. Now I have to check up upon my agents. Hopefully their missions will have gone as satisfactorily as ours."

* * *

 "...So that's what war looks like..." Killian muttered, staring through one of the ship's windows, eyes locked onto the planet below. He could see New Delphi burning.

Killian sighed, turning away and continuing to walk down the hall. There would be time to bury the dead later, for now he had a casualty report to deliver.


	28. Take No Bullshit

**Chapter Twenty-Seven - Take No Bullshit**

**Agent Carolina**

**Written by ParabolaOfMystery**

* * *

_"Leadership is the other side of the coin of loneliness, and he who is a leader must always act alone. And acting alone, accept everything alone."_ – Ferdinand Marcos

* * *

_Just another mission. Don't screw it up this time._

Carolina ignored the nervous lump in her throat and repeated her little mantra in her head, over and over. She couldn't afford to bomb this mission (unless it required actual bombing, of course.) It had to go over seamlessly, with no injuries or mistakes, not even scratched armour. She could pull it off. She had a flawless team (well, mostly) and the abilities herself to do it.

Then why was she so nervous?

"Dammit, look at those trees," 479er mumbled, gazing at the ground below. "Thank god I actually get to land in the city this time. Those trees would be such a pain in the ass."

The ground was entirely green; dense forest blanketed the area like some massive fuzzy carpet. Up ahead Carolina could see the start of New Delphi. She saw an orange glow coming from some of the outer edges, topped with a haze of black smoke. There were other fires inside the city itself, as if the Innies were sending out smoke signals to everyone outside: _This is our city now. Get out while you still can._

"Landing time, guys. Put on your seatbelts in case I decide to go all kamikaze. Maybe then you'll have a chance of living." Carolina stared at the pilot, but 479er only laughed. "Just kidding. But seriously, put on your seatbelt. It's not going to be a fun landing." She glanced at the dashboard. "Oops. That's not good."

"What?"

"Incoming missile. Damn Innies. Hold on." 479er yanked the controls; the Pelican twisted sharply to the side, and Carolina was shaken in her seat from what seemed to be a massive explosion.

"Are we hit?!" Carolina yelled over the noise, hands clenched to her armrests. Her stomach swooped as the Pelican fell sharply. There was a heavy thud behind her and what sounded like a grunt from York. ("I'm okay!")

"Of course not, shot it down before that could happen! What do you think this is, amateur hour?"

* * *

The Pelican landed on the UNSC building with a thud that rattled Carolina's brains. Her group-Florida, Virginia, Massa, Florida, and York - were met by the New Delphi UNSC officers on the rooftop. One of them stepped forward - Colonel Eric Grant, as she recognized him from her briefings- stepped forward. "Which one of you is in charge?" he asked loudly, over the roar of the Pelican. He was in full-uniform, and looked exhausted; there were bags under his eyes, his dark hair was peppered with gray, and his uniform was wrinkled, as if it hadn't been cleaned in several days.

Carolina stepped forward, took off her helmet and stuck out her hand. Her red hair whipped in her face. "I am. Agent Carolina, of Project Freelancer. This is my team. Agents Florida, Virginia, Massachusetts, and York."

_Calm. In charge. Take no bullshit._

His eyes scanned over them all. Carolina couldn't help but note his reluctance in meeting them. "Very well. Follow me." He led them inside the UNSC headquarters, where they were met with chaos. There were people running around everywhere, talking into headsets or looking at maps or barking orders at other people. Carolina couldn't help but think that it was sharply different from the Freelancer facility, and felt a small bit of pride. "I apologize for the disorganization. We are usually very organized, but, given the current circumstances, we are somewhat stressed." He stopped outside a room. "This is an officers meeting. We would prefer to have only one of you in our discussion, rather than a whole group of mercenaries."

York cleared his throat. "Freelancers, sir. Totally different." Carolina turned and gave him a death glare, and he stared at the floor. _Not the time, York._

"Understood, Colonel. My team will wait outside," she agreed, turning to address her fellow Freelancers. "Try not to break anything," she said, staring at York. York smiled and raised his eyebrows.

The conference room was a long room with an equally long table. Carolina couldn't help but notice Colonel Grant had seated her at the very end. She looked down the table. _These guys look more like politicians. Not the military._

A cross-looking woman with a hooked nose glared at her. "Who is this?"

Carolina glanced over at Colonel Grant, who had taken his place at the head of the table. He nodded, giving her permission to speak. She took a small breath and began in a clear, even voice. "I am Agent Carolina of Project Freelancer. I am requesting, on behalf of our Project and for the good of New Delphi and the UNSC, to take defensive control of New Delphi."

She bit her tongue as the officers around her tittered. _Calm. In charge. Take no bullshit. Just another mission. Don't mess this up._

"What makes you think that you can do a better job than the UNSC?" The woman with the hooked nose asked.

"Project Freelancer has superior soldiers than the UNSC. Along with superior strategic intelligence, if I may." _And better organization, and equipment, and everything else in general._

"Even if you have better soldiers and strategy, what gives you the authority?" A balding man peered at her behind thin wire glasses. "You're a Freelancer. That doesn't really seem like a legitimate military rank. What clearance do you even have?"

"She has the authority," Colonel Grant said quietly. He seemed reluctant to say it.

The woman with the hooked nose folded her hands together. "Prove it."

"She's Level Zero."

The balding man scoffed. "Level Zero? This must be some kind of joke."

Colonel Grant sighed. "Look outside. Does this seem like a time to be joking to you?"

The table fell silent.

"Now that that's settled," Colonel Grant said, shuffling through papers on the table, "does anyone wish to give her the current status of the city?"

"The entire population- military included- is running extremely low on supplies: food, water, weapons, et cetera," a younger officer, with stubble on his face, explained, also shuffling through papers. "UNSC forces have suffered heavy casualties and are mostly pushed back into the centre of the city, with exceptions to a few areas. Three to be exact."

"Which areas?" Carolina asked.

"The Business District, Centre Park, and one of the southern neighbourhoods."

Carolina bit her lip, thinking. She hadn't been learning military strategy since she was six for nothing. This wasn't even a difficult decision. "Give them up, and have those forces join us here."

Colonel Grant narrowed his eyes, suddenly hostile. "And risk being entirely surrounded by the Insurrection?"

"Yes. We are already almost entirely surrounded, if you haven't noticed. A couple areas here and there won't do much good if the heart of the city falls."

"It would give them three victories," Grant spat. "Victories would strengthen them. Give them hope. I am not giving up anything to those goddamn Innies."

Carolina swallowed, willing her voice to stay even. "Give them false hope, then. Either way, those areas are going to be taken over by the Insurrection. Would you rather have the final move there, or let them have it?"

Colonel Grant, glared at her for a moment longer then looked away, looking exhausted. "Go on."

Carolina continued. "With extra force _here_ in the middle, we need to build up barricades, made out of anything available. Furniture, rubble, et cetera. If possible, we should try and get civilian help with the barricades instead of soldiers. The barricades should slow them down, give us more time. We also need to be fighting a defensive battle now; an offensive battle will only weaken us more. We have to put people in high places, get a higher ground. Turrets, snipers, whatever is needed."

The Colonel had been listening intently as she spoke. "Very well. I will make that happen. And what will you and your Freelancers be doing?"

Carolina couldn't help but smile a tiny bit. "Oh, you'll see."

_You'll see._


	29. Broken Will

**Chapter Twenty-Eight - Broken Will**

**Agent Alaska**

**Written by Avalanche Wolf**

* * *

" _There are some ideas so wrong that only a very intelligent person could believe in them." –_ George Orwell

* * *

"You have to be kidding me! You can't let _him_ do it."

Pennsylvania was yelling his outrage to the Director. Alaska looked over at the small building they had found in the jungles of Haven. Haven was a joke. Nothing was safe from anyone. Haven especially. Ever since they landed, Alaska hated the damn planet. Must have been all the trees. Yeah, definitely trees. Given a couple years and lots of men and equipment, the whole planet could be stripped bare of it all. Maybe he could sell them all. Make a nice little fortune.

He looked from the building and saw Wyoming keeping an over watch on the area. The place was crawling with Insurrectionists, the training was gone.

This was the real deal.

Alaska glanced back at three men who were bound, grouped together. They were Innies, captured by the freelancers about an hour ago. Looked like they were just a small patrol group. Alaska dealt with this before. Minimum of three men patrol squad. Small numbers to keep valuable information limited. Not hard to get good information out of them, just had to put the right amount of pressure. Then they would crack and all that sweet information would pour out like honey.

His thoughts were taken back when Penn walked over to him. "The Director wants you to interrogate the prisoners. Find out what they know, and report back. Don't take too long, Alaska."

Behind his helmet, Alaska was smiling. He was going to be using his skills again. His special touch. He could get a man with no arms to admit he shot someone. A good day. Yes, a very good day indeed. But enough remembering, he had men to question.

Alaska walked into the building and to a separate room. It wasn't grandly decorated, but leaned towards the sparser option on the scale. A table with a couple chairs. Just the way he liked it.

He walked out of the room and grabbed one of the men, pulling them along with him, into the room. He set them down into the chair and walked around for a bit. He reached up and took off his helmet, setting it on the table. He pulled out the other chair and sat down, folding his hands together and smiling at the man, his blue eyes almost shining.

"Hello. My name is Alaska. I will be the one interrogating you today. Let's start off with something simple shall we? What is your name?"

The man practically spat in his face. "Fuck you, UNSC pig!"

The man wanted Alaska angry, but he only smiled. "My, that's cute. Defiance. It's what makes you strong. Like this table."

He stood up and walked around to the man, his hand tracing along the table. "However, I am not one for steel. Metal is so cold, and lifeless. Wood is much better, if you ask me. It has a certain...feel to it. It breaths and is shaped by mere hands. Plus, it makes it easier on you."

In one motion, Alaska grabbed the man's head and slammed it into the table, fairly hard. Maybe a little too hard. The man sat up straight, looking down at the new dent in the table where his face was smashed. Alaska leaned down and looked at it.

"See?"

He walked back to his seat. "Now if it were wood, it would have simply shattered. Sparing you some of the pain, but now see what you have done? You made me damage this very nice table. But, let's get back to the question at hand. Who are you?"

Once again, the man held strong to his will. "Rot in hell."

Alaska sighed. "It's such a shame, those friends of yours. They counted on you, and you're failing them. All I need do is talk to my friends out there, and your fellow soldiers will die."

The man glared. "I don't care. We will die for our cause. We will defeat you. We don't need to descend to the level of the UNSC."

Alaska sighed and walked behind him. He reached down and removed the restraints. "Very well. You're free to go."

He walked back to his chair and sat down, holding a small piece of paper in his hand. "You won't talk, so, you may leave."

He looked at the paper and laughed slightly as the man stood up. Alaska looked up and showed him. It was a picture of a young woman and small child. Both were smiling happily, with no care in the world.

"Is this your family? Your wife, she is very lovely. And your daughter, an angel. Very beautiful."

The man leaned over the table towards Alaska. "If you hurt them..."

Alaska looked up. "Me? No, no. I won't hurt them, so long as you give me the information I need. If not, well, you may walk out. Nothing wrong with that. I could just simply go to your home on the corner of North Mountain and Stallion. Such a lovely little place. I could break into your home at night using your own security code. Fairly simple, four zero nine four five, your daughter's birthday. I will walk in, up the seventeen steps of your stairs, take a left at the top to the room at the end of the hall. Your room, I am sure. I will go in where your wife sleeps, put my pistol to her head and pull the trigger, spraying blood all over, ruining the brand new silk sheets she bought, which would be a waste. Then I will walk down to the other end of the hall and to your daughter's room. I will wake her up and tell her she is going to see mommy. Then I will put my hand around her tiny neck, and squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze until the lovely little fire in her eyes disappears."

Alaska looked up at the man who was now sitting down. He stood up and walked past him, placing the photo down in front of him. "Enjoy your choice."

Alaska was almost to the door when the man spoke. "Corporal Jacob Leroy Grayson. That's...my name."

Alaska turned around smiling. "Progress, very good. Now let's keep going Jacob. You are with the Insurrectionists, correct?"

"Yes. Former UNSC Marine."

"I see. What are you doing out here?"

"Patrol. Guarding the outer limits of the capitol for threats."

"Who is the leader of the Insurrectionists?"

"I...I don't know. I...I only know of Colonel Allen. He is based at the capitol building at the east side of the city."

"He's not the leader? That's what I want to know."

Jacob looked up. "I don't know. I just know Colonel Allen is in charge of the local area. He's guarded by a battalion. Two guards outside the presidential office with at least three more men on the inside. Random patrols through the halls and guards all around the building. Snipers on the roof. I...I went there once."

"I see. Thank you Jacob. This information will be quite useful." Alaska stood up and put his helmet on.

"Don't worry Jacob, your family will be alright. I won't hurt them. In fact, I will do you a favour." He pulled out his pistol and shot him three times. "I will make sure they can recognize you at your funeral should your body be found."

Alaska put his pistol away and pulled the body off the chair and into the corner. He walked out of the building and grabbed another prisoner, taking them in and putting them in the chair. He once again took off his helmet and set it on the table. He sat down and smiled.

"My name is Alaska. I will be the one interrogating you today. Let's start off with something simple, shall we? What is your name?"


	30. No Turning Back

**Chapter Twenty-Nine – No Turning Back**

**Agent New York**

**Written by Maple Alycia Hood**

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" _The defence of New Delphi was our first real mission against the Insurrectionists. Despite previous... setbacks involving our teamwork, we managed to successfully hold the city and also achieve our main objective of taking out Colonel James Allen, the Insurrectionist Leader of that time. But on the planet itself, holding off the ground forces, it was the first time for many other things too. Chief on the list... Well..._

_It was the first time Agent New York had to kill someone. At first I didn't think he could do it. I'm glad I had faith in him, otherwise... as much as I hate to admit it... I wouldn't be here right now."_ – Log Entries of Agent Carolina, post Project Freelancer.

* * *

"Carolina!"

York could barely see anyone amidst the crowd of UNSC soldiers that they were currently working with. Gunfire and explosions ran clear in his ears, and he was pretty sure he couldn't hear himself, never mind hoping that Carolina would be able to hear him. So he would have to do things the old fashioned way – on foot. He leaped over numerous barricades, occasionally stopping to help a wounded soldier get to his feet and head off, or be helped off, back to the interior of the base they were guarding, in which Massachusetts was using her medical skills to see what she could do to help.

Despite looking everywhere in the mass of grey, green and silver, there was no sign of the familiar aqua blue armour that belonged to their current leader. Most likely she was at the front of the line, pounding some Innies back so Team B had chance to do their job without too much interference. Nothing bad had come through the comm. link yet, so he could assume that all was going well.

For now.

York was caught off guard, though, by a pair of armoured rebels that had flanked the defence and tried to attack from the side. A fist met the side of his head and he was sent flying sideways, landing with a grunt. He just about staggered onto his feet, holding up his own hands to fight back, but with one of the Innies holding two magnums and the other holding a shotgun, things didn't look so good.

That was, until a sniper round went through the head of the shotgun holding Insurrectionist. His startled companion made to retreat, only to meet the barrel of Florida's shotgun, a loud _boom_ silencing any plea that he might have made. The tan armoured Freelancer breathed out a sigh of relief, nodding briefly to his comrade and giving a mock salute to Virginia, who stood on the edge of one of the tall buildings nearby.

"Any of you two seen Carolina?" he asked over their private comm. links so that they could both hear him.

**"She's up front helping Colonel Grant keep the Innies at bay,"** Virginia responded, to which York gave a thankful wave and set off again, Florida close behind him. He was glad for the support, to say the least.

"You heard news about Team B?" he asked the blue Freelancer as soon as his tomahawk had stopped being embedded into the chest of an Insurrectionist scout and the two of them could move on again.

"Not so far, I'm afraid," Florida answered. "The comms aren't exactly noisy as of late. Just the occasional update from F.I.L.S.S."

"Seems like the Director doesn't really wanna get too involved." York remarked quietly. No doubt the man in charge was listening, but he could always pass it off as a harmless statement. War could make a man say stupid things, after all. Although, to be fair, he probably wouldn't get away with that.

Up ahead was the sign he'd been looking for. A brief flicker of aqua armour told him that Carolina wasn't too far ahead. Neither he nor Florida hesitated in joining her fight – surrounded by God knew how many Insurrectionists wasn't the best fate for one sole person. Besides, they were meant to be working as a team now, right? That was the whole point of their previous training exercises.

"I thought I told you to watch the back way?" his female teammate demanded as they came back to back, hitting anyone that came close.

"I was," he grunted back as he landed a kick to a rebel's chest. "But it got kinda quiet and I thought you might be lonely up here."

If she found that statement funny, she didn't make any sort of hint towards it. Nor did she snap at him, playfully or otherwise. Then again, she wasn't exactly paying attention right now. The crowd of Innies began to thin out, but they stuck close just in case. Florida had made their back to back into a triangle, then a line, as they began to push back the onslaught.

But neither man saw it coming. From the side of their blockade a lone scout lashed out and knocked Carolina to the ground. The two wrestled to try and pin one another, and the scout came out on top, a magnum in his hand, desperately trying to get the aim straight against the redhead's strong grip.

"York! A little help here!" she called to him, and York turned, aiming his shotgun.

He hesitated though, despite having been sure that all doubts had gone from his mind. This... this was still a person, right? With a life. With feelings and thoughts. With a family, perhaps? He didn't know this scout. None of them did. Did anonymity make the killings they committed any more right?

Were they honestly doing the right thing now?

" _York!_ "

As much as he hated to have the words circulate around his head, the fact remained clear – he valued Carolina's life over this scout's. With a small flicker of guilt, he pulled the trigger, the shells slamming straight through the scout's back, and he slumped, eventually pushed off by Carolina, who he helped pull to her feet. The sound of Florida's shotgun no longer firing told him that this side was clear, but his gaze was fixed on the dead body of the man he'd just killed.

"We'll talk about this later," the woman next to him muttered in an even tone. She probably wouldn't shout at him. She had to make a first kill at some point, right? She'd understand. So all York could do was nod in response, and the three turned and ran for the next barricade.

Hopefully Team B would be near to their objective by now. Agent New York wasn't sure how many bullets they had left.

"Hurry up!" Colonel Grant called from his position on top of one of the supply crates. "They're breaking through the East side barricade!"

"Not for much longer," he heard Carolina mutter darkly under her breath, her statement reinforced by the sniper shot that smacked into the chest of the first of the next group of Insurrectionists. And so they started the process again, and York found himself scared by how much easier killing people was becoming.

Well, there was no turning back now.


	31. Hitmen

**Chapter Thirty – Hitmen**

**Agent Pennsylvania**

**Written by Jerem6401**

* * *

" _Effective leadership is not about making speeches or being liked; leadership is defined by results not attributes"_ – Peter Drucker

* * *

"Target location within sight," Alaska reported. I walked up to the edge of the rooftop in which we stood and looked down over the city of New Delphi. Pillars of smoke were rising into a blackened sky dotted with exploding ships and glimmering shields. The building we stood upon was one of the tallest in the city, and now filled with downed insurrectionist soldiers. Most were unconscious… but letting all of them live just wasn't an option… or nearly as much fun. The building was right on the edge of the city, and exactly where intel suggested we'd find Colonel James Allen.

I put my hands on the edge and peered downwards, seeing a flat plaza in front of the building. In the centre was a mobile defence structure. Which is basically a bunker made of reinforced steel that you could drive to its location. Once it arrives, it roots itself into the ground until it needs to move out once again. They were slow as hell… so I wasn't nervous that the machine would start fleeing once our assault began.

"I count roughly thirty insurrectionist soldiers surrounding the bunker," Wyoming chimed in as he viewed the situation through his scope. "I would bet a pretty penny that our friend in somewhere inside."

"If Alaska's intel in correct, he will be," I stated. I was planning my attack on the group below, when my line of sight with it was broken. Alaska put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me back from the ledge. Not hard enough to make me lose my balance, but strong enough to make me face him. If anyone had done that to me at any other time in my life… they would have been praying for mercy within seconds. But Alaska was now one of my soldiers… my responsibility.

"My intel is correct," he snapped at me. "The look in that soldier's eyes when he told me where Allen was… trust me… he wasn't lying." I stared at Alaska a little longer before turning away from him. Not giving a damn if he expected a response or not.

"Wyoming," I began as I looked at the white armoured sniper, "you're going to stay up here and cover us while we take out the guards. You're also going to be taking the first shot on them, so take out as many as you can before we get down there… and make it count."

"Understood," he replied… like a good soldier should.

"So you made us fight our way up this entire building just to make our way back down to the bunker?" Alaska asked, getting more and more upset. I was also losing my patience with him. I looked him straight in the visor and then walked towards him. I was only inches in front of him, looking down on him.

"You're under my command right now, Alaska," I said sternly. "Learn your place and don't forget it."

"What are you going to do? Penalize me for not following orders? Seems like a pretty cocky move from someone with your record."

"And you're talking pretty high and mighty for someone who lost in a fight with Florida. And if you keep spitting attitude like this at me… you're going into that arena with me next." I stepped even closer so my visor was pressed against his. "And I don't care what it does to my rank… but I'll make sure there's a name missing from the list after it happens."

Alaska was silent for a moment, before reaching up and putting his hand across my helmet and shoving me away from him. I stumbled for a moment before regaining my balance and stepping back towards him. I smirked at his cockiness and looked over his shoulder, contemplating my response. I could've made it happen right there. Grabbed his throat and torn that bastard's head right off his shoulders. Thrown it to Wyoming like a basketball. But those words. The Director's words. They buzzed around in my head like a swarm of bees.

_"Make me proud."_

I shook my head slightly and turned towards the edge of the building. I looked back at Alaska and motioned him towards the edge.

"We're not taking the stairs," I replied. I stepped up onto the ledge and looked down at the plaza before me. I could hear Alaska gulp as I turned back to him. "Hope you're not afraid of heights, tough guy." Alaska shook his head and stepped up onto the ledge next to me. I knew he would never let me appear better than him. He wasn't going to let me win. He was so easy to understand… like he and I were the same person.

"Once you're all hooked up, start repelling down the building," Wyoming instructed, "I'll take the shot when you're almost at ground level. In the confusion, they should be easy enough to take down." I nodded and looked at Alaska. He was getting ready to hook up, as was I.

"Let's go, soldier!" I commanded, "we've got the drop on them." Suddenly a massive wind picked up behind us. We stumbled on the thin ledge as the sound of rotors filled the air around us. An insurrectionist falcon appeared from out of nowhere, with the pilot looking us straight in the eyes.

"Move move MOVE!" I yelled. I grabbed Alaska's shoulder and ripped him off the edge of the building. We tumbled off the side and started tearing through the air towards the ground. The falcon dove after us as the two gunners on the sides began to fire wildly towards on the building shattered to bits behind us as we fell, showering us in shards of glass that glittered in the air as we went.

I pulled out my assault rifle and aimed it towards the falcon, trying to line up a shot with the pilot. Then a stray bullet from the machinegun fire slammed into my rifle, ripping it from my hands. I watched it tumble upwards, seeing as I fell faster than it.

**"What's the plan now?!"** Alaska screamed through the radio as we fell. **"We never hooked up, buddy!"**

"No time!" I yelled back. "Wyoming, can you get a shot on this falcon? We're getting shot up down here!"

**"Did you upgrade your armour?"** he asked over the radio.

"What?"

**"The reinforced gauntlets? Did you upgrade?!"**

"Yeah, but I don't…"

**"Cross your arms in front of your chest!"** he yelled.

I looked at the falcon as the machineguns started to turn red from heat. The ground was getting closer, and the bullets were doing the same.

**"Just do it!"**

I crossed my arms in front of my chest and suddenly heard a massive crack fill the air. Wyoming's sniper bullet fired straight downwards and slammed into the reinforced armour on my gauntlets. It ricocheted perfectly to the side and tore straight through the glass of the cockpit, followed quickly by the pilot's head. The inside of the cockpit was suddenly covered in crimson as the pilot's head slammed down onto the controls in front of him. The falcon stopped descending as fast as us and began to spin. One of the gunners was thrown from the spinning vehicle and went hurdling towards the ground, while the other rode the falcon into the building, which then erupted into a massive fireball, dotted with shards of glass and broken steel.

I looked towards Alaska and saw that the sniper bullet had sped me up, and he was now falling further behind me. I looked down and saw a cable running from our building to the next. It was part of a massive communication line within the city. I reached out and grabbed it, snapping one end clean from its root. The other end held firm and I swung towards our building, smashing through a window and rolling across the floor.

I was in a room filled with massive machinery, used to power the building. I took some deep breaths, before my mind shot to Alaska, who had been falling right behind me.

Should I just let him fall? Slam into the ground so he'd be nothing more than a red smear on the pavement?

I couldn't. Not with my rank on the line!

I immediately jumped to my feet and charged back towards the broken window. I dropped to the ground and skidded towards the window, grabbing a piece of the machinery that was rooted to the ground as I passed. I stretched my other hand out the window, reaching as far as I could. Time slowed down as Alaska started to reach my window. I watched as he dropped towards my hand. Out visors met, and there was a silent… but definite communication. I didn't even have to say anything, but he knew on the inside I was screaming "GRAB MY HAND!"

Alaska reached and his wrist fell perfectly into my grip. I held on as tightly as I could to the machinery as Alaska's full, terminal velocity, weight tried to rip my body in half. I remember screaming in pain as my torso stretched from the catch. My chest plate even snapped in the centre with an explosion of tiny fragments from my armour. I held on tightly, and I could feel Alaska doing the same.

I ripped my arm upwards and pulled Alaska into the room. He flew over me and skidded onto the floor as well. I breathed heavily for a moment, just taking a second to rest. Alaska was already pushing himself to his feet, so I naturally had to do the same. I got to my feet and walked towards him. He was brushing off his armour, and for some reason… even though I hated the guy… I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder.

"You still alive in there?" I asked. Alaska looked at his left arm, which had been the one that I caught. His shoulder had clearly been ripped from its socket and his arm was just hanging off of his body. He shook his head and looked towards the wall next to him. He wound up and slammed his shoulder into the wall, popping it back into place. He cringed for a second before rotating his arm a few times and nodding.

"I'll live," he replied. "So much for a stealthy entry. Now what's your plan? They know we're here, and you don't have your weapon anymore." I looked back towards the window and cracked my neck. "You're seriously considering taking on thirty soldiers… just me with a DMR… and you with nothing?"

"You still really don't know me, huh?" I asked. Alaska titled his head to the side and looked down at my hands as I clenched them into fists. "I live every second of my life with my favourite weapons." I walked towards the window and looked down at the guards. We were now only about five stories in the air. I hadn't realized how close the ground actually was. The soldiers were all looking towards our window and the destroyed falcon.

"I don't know, Pennsylvania," he said quietly. "I know I'm good… and though I hate to admit it… I know you're good, too. But are we this good?" I looked at each guard on the ground and then turned my head to look at Alaska.

"Impress me."

"There they are!" one of the guards screamed. "Take 'em down!" I put my hand up to my helmet and spoke into the radio.

"Wyoming," I began, "you ready?"

**"How many do you want taken down?** " he asked. There were about thirty of them down there.

"How many get you get in one shot?" I replied.

Suddenly the sniper shot rang out. I watched it tear through the first soldier's chest, then ricochet countless times off the ground and the metal bunker behind them. Sometimes it even bounced off of the weapons in their very hands. The group of soldiers was completely motionless after the bullet stopped bouncing. They looked at one another, contemplating what had just happened to them. Suddenly half of the soldiers grew blood stains on their chests and slowly dropped to the ground. There was still a silence as the insurrectionists stood in complete shock, until Wyoming's voice pierced the silence.

" **How many was that?"** he asked.

"GO!" I yelled. Alaska and I jumped from the window and down towards the remaining soldiers. I aimed my landing, and came down straight onto one of the insurrectionists, crushing his ribs in the process. I stood up and threw a punch into another soldier's head, sending an explosion of glass shards, blood, and dislodged teeth spraying from his visor. I felt the gun of another soldier press against the back of my head, right before Alaska slammed down on top of him. Alaska grabbed the man's DMR in one hand, and his own in another. He lifted them both and fired at the other insurrectionists, dropping five of them in seconds. His ability to wield two weapons at once so accurately still amazed me.

I suddenly heard the clicking of eight more weapons as the remaining soldiers stood in a circle around us, preparing to take us down. I looked at Alaska and reached out my hand.

"DMR!" I yelled.

He reacted quickly and tossed me one of his weapons. I grabbed it out of the air and jumped towards him. He and I threw our backs against each other and fired four shots each. All eight were direct headshots. The bodies started to drop, just as two more soldiers jumped from behind them with combat knives at the ready. They were going straight for Alaska, knowing he couldn't kill both of them fast enough with one weapon. A third soldier had his eyes on me and was charging in for the kill.

"DMR!" Alaska shouted.

I threw the DMR over my head, which Alaska snatched out of the air almost immediately. He ripped it downwards as he lifted his other DMR and fired both at the same time, tearing through both of the visors in front of him. The third soldier had just reached me, but with no weapon in my hands… I was at my most dangerous. I threw my hand out and grabbed the bottom of his helmet. He swung his knife at me, but couldn't find his target as I pushed his head backwards. I ripped him over my back, draping his body over my shoulders. With one swift motion I pulled down on his helmet and leg and snapped his spine across the top of my back.

I dropped his body to the ground and the world fell to silence. Alaska and I were standing in a sea of bodies… having achieved the seemingly impossible.

"Freeze punks!" someone abruptly shouted.

Alaska and I turned and saw a huge man standing in front of the bunker. He had chalk drawings of bullets covering his armour, and must've been almost eight feet in height. His armour was jet black and extremely thick, covering every inch of his body. He held a mini-gun in his hands which quickly began to spin up.

I crossed my arms in front of me and took the hailstorm of bullets into my reinforced gauntlets. They bounced in all directions as they sprang off the metal. Alaska ran up behind me, planting one foot onto my shoulder and spring-boarding off of my back. He fired both DMRs in the air, which didn't pierce the behemoth's armour.

He let go of the mini-gun with one hand and batted Alaska out of the air, making him slam into the concrete, cracking it and sending bits of rock in all directions. The giant wound up his mini-gun again and had it trained on Alaska. Suddenly a sniper round pierced the air and careened into the man's chest. He stepped backwards in pain and grabbed his wound. The behemoth followed the smoke trail back to Wyoming and was preparing to start firing on him.

Alaska pulled his DRM back up and fire two shots, both directly into the man's visor, cracking it. He reached up and put a hand on his face as tiny shards from his visor rained into his eyes. I ran towards him and shoved his mini-gun to the side, followed quickly by kicking him in the knee, snapping it to the side and making him drop to his other knee. His head was now the same height as my own, if not a little lower. I reached onto my chest and snapped off a grenade. I clicked the pin out and gripped it tightly in my fist. I threw my hand forward and smashed my fist through his visor, burying the grenade behind it. I pulled my hand back and kicked him in the chest, making him fall to his back, before his head exploded into a cascade of fire and blood.

It was beautiful.

The massive man's body convulsed for a second, before lying completely still on the ground.

The area around us was quiet once again, with nothing but the silent hum of the wind behind me. Alaska was getting to his feet, and Wyoming was beginning his call for evac. I turned towards the bunker and walked towards its entryway.

I wound up and forced my boot through the door, firing it into the darkness within. A man was sitting alone at a table in the centre of the room. He had white hair, neatly set on top of his head, and was outfitted with a stained black and red uniform. He had his hands folded together in front of him and was looking directly into my eyes. I stepped into the bunker and stood at the opposite end of the table. The man seemed completely unfazed by the war happening outside, or the fact that an enemy soldier was now breathing down his neck.

"James Allen, I presume," I said quietly.

"I suspect you're with the UNSC?" he asked. "Come here to try and stop the insurrection?"

"We're working _with_ the UNSC. That's all you need to know."

"Is it?" He sat backwards and folded his arms. "I'm assuming you're here to kill me? So what's the bother with letting me know?" I slammed my hands onto the table, denting the metal.

"Project Freelancer!" I yelled. "If you have wires in this room relaying this… I hope they can hear me loud and clear. Our organization is completely unstoppable." I leaned closer to him, and I could see sweat starting to form on his forehead. "I'm… completely unstoppable." He smirked and closed his eyes.

"Yes…you're quite the soldier," he commented. "It's a shame really." I stood back up and turned around to look at the door. No sign of Alaska. Good.

"A shame?" I asked as I looked back. "What do you mean?" He stood up and motioned towards me.

"Look at you! You're a super soldier. I doubt there's anyone that could compare to someone of your expertise. No one ranked higher than you." I looked away as memories flooded my mind once again. My name highlighted in blue… with a horrible glowing number plastered next to it. James laughed a little and shook his head. "I knew it. They don't use you like they should. Appreciate the soldier you are. What you're capable of."

He walked around the table and stood directly next to me. He spoke softer… almost in a whisper. "Just imagine what you could be. What the insurrection... could make you."

"Penn!" Alaska yelled as he got to the doorway. "Quit beating him to death and…" Alaska froze when he saw us speaking and lowered his weapon. "He's still alive? C'mon, Penn! Evac is one its way!" James looked me in the visor and shook his head.

"Make your choice, Penn," he said quietly. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as the words penetrating my mind once again. I spoke softly and clenched my hand into a fist.

"I'll make you proud," I whispered, "I swear it!" I reached up with both arms and grabbed James's head. I ripped my arms in separate ways and the bunker was filled with the crack louder than Wyoming's sniper rounds. Alaska shuddered for a moment as James fell to the floor in front of me. I stared as his lifeless body for a moment, but his words… his words still had plenty of life within them. Then next thing I felt was Alaska's hand on my shoulder. I turned my head to look at him, remaining silent as I did.

"Nice work out there," he complimented. "I didn't think you could pull it off. So… I guess you proved me wrong. And I didn't mention it earlier but… thanks for the save coming down the building." My mind was alive with thoughts. I stepped out the door, forcing my shoulder past him as I went.

"What the insurrection could make you," echoed in my head over and over again. I looked back at Alaska one more time before making my way into the plaza for evac.

"I would've lost points if you died."


	32. Urban Warfare

**Chapter Thirty-One – Urban Warfare**

**Agent Wyoming**

**Written by NicKenny**

* * *

_"I never really understood how Wyoming could be so detached at times. Nothing that happened ever fazed the guy, not Penn breaking some guy in half, not Alaska pulling a knife on some guy, not Maine ripping a warthog in half with his bare hands. Maybe it was due to his training as a sniper: you're patient, still, dead to the world until your enemy makes a mistake and exposes himself. Then you pull the trigger and go home. Emotions don't really come into it." -_ Agent New York (Extract from log entries made after going AWOL).

* * *

"Hold on tight, guys!" 343-R's voice rang out from the cockpit, "We'll be going in hot."

Wyoming groaned and gripped onto his safety harness, noticing Penn and Alaska following suit. Seconds later the pelican shuddered and the freelancer's ears rang with the noise of an explosion.

"Are we hit?" Alaska yelled up to the pilot, a note of worry in his voice.

343-R just laughed, and the pelican shuddered once more. "Nope, those are missiles hitting one of the flares we've been dropping. If we had been hit, you'd know about it, trust me. There would be more plummeting towards the ground, crashing, burning. You know, all the good stuff."

"How far to our LZ?" Penn asked gruffly from his seat next to Wyoming, his huge frame barely fitting into the safety harness, which was clearly designed for more…average sized soldiers.

"About four klicks," the pilot swiftly replied, "It'll take no time at all. We'd already be there if it wasn't for all these damn SAM sites. Seriously, what the hell were the UNSC doing before we got here? It takes _time_ to set up this kind of an assault."

Something in his cockpit began beeping and he swore under his breath. "Ok, guys, you're probably not going to like this next bit."

Wyoming groaned again, this time even louder, and the pelican rolled to the left, avoiding whatever missile had currently been locked onto them. Alaska swore as it righted itself, and Wyoming bit back the bile that was rising in his throat.

He wasn't a happy flier.

The attacks on their pelican began to ease off as they approached the city, and Wyoming sprang out of his seat the second the safety harnesses went up, after 343-R landed the ship. He barely heard the pilot's parting words as he, Penn and Alaska exited the pelican as quickly as possible, relieved to be setting their feet back on terra firma.

"Thank you for flying with Project Freelancer. The time in New Delphi is seven-sixteen p.m. We have once again made record time, and have not sustained any casualties, despite the intents of the cluster of bastards who were shooting at us. Your goodie-bags are located at the rear entrance of the pelican; please remember to take one on the way out. We hope to see you again soon."

Pilots. They were _not_ Wyoming's favourite kind of people.

They stood out on the landing platform, taking in the city that lay before them. UNSC soldiers were running to and fro, and sounds of gunfire and the occasional explosion could be heard in the distance. The skyline was almost blotted out by the huge high-rise skyscrapers that the city consisted of, but the evident beauty of the structures had been somewhat marred by the days of warfare, as the taken its toll. The buildings all bore their own individual marks: some had been opened up by missiles, the explosions having left gaping holes in their sides. Others had been scorched from fire, or had partially collapsed, or had every window shattered into a billion tiny shards. Sirens could be heard all around them, and the constant shouting from the UNSC soldiers made it difficult for Wyoming to think of something witty to say.

"So this is what Hell looks like," he muttered numbly, taking in his surroundings with a heavy heart.

Next to him Alaska snorted and turned to him. "I dunno," he said, shaking his head slightly, "I kind of like it. Sure as hell beats that jungle."

Penn turned to them, his face unreadable behind his visor, but Wyoming could tell that he was thinking his next plan of action through. "Okay, we've been ordered to rendezvous with Carolina and the others, and provide additional support to the UNSC. Guess we may as well get started and look for them."

Wyoming paused after Penn said this, turning and looking over to a nearby group of UNSC soldiers. "Or we could just ask _them_?" he suggested meekly, nodding to the troopers.

He could feel both Penn's glare and Alaska's smug amusement, despite their hidden features, but Penn just sighed heavily and nodded slowly. "If you want to do things the boring way," he muttered to himself as he walked up to the soldiers, evidently displeased with Wyoming's suggestion.

The soldiers turned and saluted as the three freelancers made their way over, and Wyoming couldn't help smiling just a little bit. Evidently Carolina and the others had left an impression on the UNSC. Penn stepped forward and addressed the group, taking on his role of team leader once more.

"Do you know where we can find the rest of our team, in particular the soldier with aqua…sea-green…teal armour?"

The soldiers practically radiated enthusiasm, and nodded excitedly. Their sergeant quickly replied: "Of course, sir. They're with the main force in the northwest corner of the city, driving back the Insurrectionists. Colonel Grant's leading a smaller force against the Innies in the south of the city, where they're less congregated."

Penn nodded and thanked the soldier, turning back to Alaska and Wyoming. "You heard the man, the northwest corner, on the double! I'll be damned if there's no Innies left for us to kill by the time we get there!"

* * *

The northwest corner of the city was in even worse shape than the rest of New Delphi, and had evidently borne the brunt of the fighting. Dozens of fires burned in the surrounding buildings, and the sounds of explosions and gunfire were even more prominent.

"I take back what I said earlier," Wyoming noted, walking through the city next to his two teammates, " _This_ is what Hell looks like."

They picked up their pace, and soon encountered a huge group of UNSC troops as they reached the very edge of the battle. Here the UNSC had set up several medical tents, and the screams of wounded soldiers could be heard clearly, even over the gunfire that echoed out from the north. There were also several MAAPs in lock-down mode arranged along the edge of the camp, their Zeus cannons firing at random intervals, the plasma discharge arching through the air, quickly followed by a tremendous explosion.

"I would like to take back my previous statement one final time," Wyoming said with utter sincerity as they tried to blot out the images of the wounded all around them, hurriedly marching through the area.

They followed a group of about twenty soldier who were marching to the front line, eager to finally get into the fight, and reached the rest of the UNSC forces, who were currently locked into battle with a huge Insurgent force, both fighting for control of a few city blocks in the northwest corner of the city.

Penn grabbed a nearby soldier, catching his attention. "I'm looking for Agent Carolina of Project Freelancer!" he yelled, over the gunfire. The soldier just pointed towards a hastily constructed barricade about two hundred yards in front of them, which was sheltering a sort of lean-to that had been erected from the rubble of a fallen building.

Penn let go of the soldier and strode forward, pushing his way through the throngs of soldiers. Wyoming and Alaska paused to glance at one another, before following their team leader into the building.

The building was evidently serving as the field headquarters for the UNSC, which was confirmed, in Wyoming's opinion, by the four ODST's that stood on guard outside the door, and stopped Penn as he made his way up to them.

"Authorization?" one of the ODST's snapped, not quite pointing his battle rifle at Penn, but, at the same time, making it clear that he _was_ in fact holding a battle rifle.

Penn just stared blankly for a moment, evidently considering crushing the ODST's head between his hands, but managed to restrain himself. "Agent Pennsylvania of Project Freelancer, and these are agents Wyoming and Alaska," he said, jerking a thumb back in our direction.

The ODST glanced over at Wyoming and Alaska, then back at Penn, then over at his comrades. "I'm going to have to run this by my superior officer," he replied, looking confused. "We were not informed that we would be receiving more freelancers."

Penn removed his helmet, glaring at the ODST, and things could have taken on a turn for the worst if a familiar voice hadn't suddenly rang out from behind the freelancers.

"Wow, look what the cat dragged in."

The three agents spun around to see a smiling Agent York standing behind them, his shotgun across his back and his helmet in his hand. "And by dragged in I mean spit out like a hairball, hey guys! I thought you were supposed to be off assassinating some Innie colonel?"

Wyoming walked up to him and grabbed his hand firmly, happy to be reunited with his roommate once more. "We're a bit ahead of schedule. That objective was completed a good three or four hours ago."

York's smile widened, and shook Wyoming's hand warmly. "That would explain why the fight went out of these guys around that time," he replied with a nod towards the Insurrectionist camp. "We just thought Carolina was scaring them off with her steely gaze and cold contempt."

He looked past Wyoming and nodded to the ODST guards, who were looking slightly nonplussed by this exchange. "It's okay, guys, they're with me."

The ODST who had stopped Penn shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry York but we still need clearance before we can let them through."

York just laughed at the guard's words. "Don't try to pull that on me, Dave. You wouldn't want everyone to know about that weekend in New Alexandria, would you?"

The soldier blushed behind his helmet and glared at York, trying to ignore the curious expressions of his companions. "Just go in," he spat out venomously, his eyes stabbing daggers into York's soul.

The four freelancers brushed past the ODST's, and as he walked past Wyoming current resist the urge to give the infuriated ODST a sharp salute, earning a glare in return. The building itself was filled with evidently high-up UNSC officials. An irritated looking woman with a hooked nose looked up at them over a pile of maps, each showing different areas of New Delphi.

"Who're these?" she asked sharply, but York just shrugged it off.

"Agents Pennsylvania, Wyoming and Alaska," he replied with a flourish, pointing out each freelancer in turn.

The woman's colleague, a balding man wearing thin wire spectacles, nodded slowly. "The hit team?" he asked, a questioning note in his voice.

Wyoming snorted and shook his head vigorously. "We prefer precision removal unit."

The two UNSC officials glanced at each other, and, as one, shook their heads in disbelief. "Where the hell do they recruit you guys?" the woman murmured to herself, before introducing herself as Lieutenant Jennifer Hilary, and her colleague as Major Jonathon Smith. York broke up the introductions smoothly, asking where Carolina was, and the Lieutenant frowned, saying that she was currently communicating with Colonel Grant.

"Forget Grant, she'll want to see them," was all he would tell her, then ushered the other three agents to the far end of the room, where Carolina stood, talking to an aged UNSC official through a monitor, who Wyoming assumed was Colonel Grant.

"Carolina!" York shouted out as they walked up to her, barging through the officials in order to forge a path. She turned around slowly, terminating her link with Grant, and Wyoming winced slightly. Her helmet lay on the table next to her, so her face was on clear display. Her normally beautiful face was marred somewhat by the black eye that she sported, and the bruises that ran along her left cheek. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she recognised the agents, and she nodded slightly to them.

"I take it that the target has been terminated then?" she asked, immediately all business, just like she always was.

Penn nodded. "He's dead. The Director sent us to help push the Innies out of the city."

"Would have helped if he had told us you were coming, but then again, we've had troubles with our radio equipment lately. We think the Innies might be trying to jam us with something, but we haven't been able to pinpoint the exact area where the interference is coming from." Carolina was obviously weary, and her injuries attested to the fact that she had been in the very thick of the fighting, but there was something to her, some sort of iron will underneath that cold exterior, that reminded Wyoming a little of the Director. She would never give up, no matter how impossible her mission seemed.

"How's the liberation of the city going?" Alaka asked, seeming genuinely curious, a change from his normal fluctuation between disinterested aloofness, and fascinated glee.

Carolina sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Grant just called to inform me that he's driven the Insurgents out of the city in his sector. That just leaves here, but at the moment we've got a dozen city blocks filled to the brim with hostiles, and don't have the manpower to take them out. To be honest, we're at a stalemate. When Grant and his men arrive to reinforce us, maybe then we'll be able to go on an all-out offensive, but for the time being we're just sitting out here, talking."

Penn cracked his knuckles, glancing at Wyoming and Alaska. "Then put us to work wherever you need us. Clearly you guys have seen a lot more action than we did, so let's try to rectify that situation."

Carolina seemed to mull this over, seeming almost unwilling to allow Penn to encroach on her mission, but eventually bowed her head in acceptance. "Right," she murmured, picking up the data-pad that lay on the table next to her helmet, her fingers flying furiously across it, bringing up a map of the city blocks in dispute onto the monitor.

"Penn, I want you to join our main body of soldiers here, at the barricades. We're planning on launching an offensive against the Insurrectionist forces located in this building," bringing up an image of a half-collapsed skyscraper, "York believes that _this_ is where the interference is originating. I want you to take York and Alaska, along with two squads of ODSTs, and liberate the building."

Wyoming cleared his throat. "What can I do to help?"

Carolina turned to him, with a half-smile on her face. "I need you with Virginia and her team of snipers on our building on Dresden Street, to the west of our current location. They're currently locked in a dogfight with a team of Innie snipers in the building on the opposite side of the road, and until they're taken down I can't move troops up that street."

"Understood," he replied, nodding slowly, until he realised that Carolina hadn't mentioned either Massa or Florida, "What about the others?"

"Massa's organising our field hospitals. I'm sure you guys have seen what's going on there. Florida's over on the east side with a team of heavily armoured ODST's, trying to smoke a group of Insurgents out of the hole they've crawled into. I'm not going to lie to you, at the moment all we can do is hold out and hope that our reinforcements arrive before theirs do."

Wyoming nodded, turned and walked out with the other three agents, and York directed him to the soldiers who were running their transportation. After a brief explanation, the corporal running it grudgingly agreed to bring him to the building on Dresden Street, but warned Wyoming to keep his head down and, if he got shot, not to start crying to him.

The corporal hopped into the driver's seat of his warthog and Wyoming got into the passenger seat next to him. They took a winding path through dozens of back-alleys, sometimes forced to retrace their steps when an alley was blocked by fallen rubble, but eventually the driver pulled up and looked over at Wyoming, an apologetic look on his face.

"I'm sorry, this is as far as I go," he said grimly, "Driving the warthog up any further would be suicide. Dresden Street's a no-go area, not with those snipers up there. The building you want is that one there," pointing it out to Wyoming, "Just keep your head down and try to keep behind cover. Who knows, maybe you'll make it!"

With this enthusiastic well-wishing, Wyoming got out of the warthog, thanking the corporal. He made his way slowly along the street, keeping low, glad that his armour helped him to fade into the background, matching up nicely with the chalky-white dust of the rubble all around him. He had just about reached the building that the corporal had pointed out to him when the noise of sniper-fire suddenly filled his ears and a bullet slammed into the ground a few feet to his left. He threw himself forward, taking cover under part of a collapsed wall, wincing each time a sniper shot rang out and smacked into the ground nearby or into the wall that he was crouching behind.

He took a deep breath and slowly raised his head over the edge of the collapsed wall, peeking out for a millisecond in order to judge the situation. Almost immediately a shot rang out and he jerked his head back just in time to avoid the bullet which slammed into a patch of ground nearby, flying through the space of air that his head had occupied only a moment earlier.

"This day just keeps getting better and better," he murmured, taking another deep breath before picking himself up and charging across the small gap between him and the building, physically throwing himself over the last few feet into the gaping hole at the back of the building. He smashed into the ground as dozens of shots rang out, groaning as he slowly picked himself up and dusted himself off. Something moved in the darkness of the ruined building, and he quickly glanced at his motion trackers, confused by the fact that they weren't picking anything up. He flicked on his helmet's torch and paled as dozens of figures suddenly came into view, their guns trained on him.

"Um…hello?" he said, slowly raising his hands to show that they were empty, praying that he wouldn't end up being shot by his own side. Friendly-fire was definitely not the way he wanted to go out.

A figure stepped forward out of the darkness, and Wyoming sagged as recognition dawned. "Wyoming?" she asked, a sniper rifle in her hands, her green and red armour reflecting the light of his torch.

"Hello, Virginia. Nice to see you." There was a brief pause and Wyoming looked around the room, his sense of unease not yet removed. "Um…could you get your men to stop pointing their guns at me? It's…making me slightly uncomfortable."

Virginia motioned for her men to do as he asked, and Wyoming slowly picked himself up, removing his sniper rifle from its place on his back. He flicked off his torch and the room was plunged into semi-darkness once more, but his eyes gradually became accustomed to the lack of light.

"What're you doing down here?" Virginia asked, curious. "I thought Carolina had established this street as a no-man's-zone until we had cleared out that nest of snipers?"

"She thought I could help. Didn't quite realise how serious they were when they described what was going on down here."

Virginia chuckled quietly to herself. "You don't know the half of it. The jammer they've set up to block our transmissions is also playing hell with our motion sensors, so we can't get a lock on the positions of their snipers. So basically, we've gone back a couple of centuries, and are playing the old waiting game."

She paused for a few seconds before asking: "I take it the hit was successful?"

"Of course," Wyoming replied, gesturing with his free hand, "Penn carried it out. You know how he loves breaking things."

Virginia winced slightly, and Wyoming couldn't help but empathise. They all knew how much Penn enjoyed breaking things. It wasn't something you could forget quickly.

"So," Wyoming continued, "What do you need me to do?"

"Just pick a window, and try to take out any of their snipers that poke their heads out. Unfortunately, until that jammer's down, we can't do anything more."

If Wyoming hadn't been wearing his helmet, he would have stroked his moustache, an action he was fond of carrying out when a problem presented itself. "York has taken Penn and Al and a couple of ODSTs to clear out a building that they think the jamming frequency is coming from. Maybe everything will be back online sooner rather than later."

"Maybe," Virginia replied, her voice grim, "But until then, we have a job to do."

* * *

Two hours later Wyoming was wondering what on earth was taking the three agents so long to take out that jammer. Of course, York could have been wrong, and the jammer could've been located somewhere else, but Wyoming had a lot of respect for his roommates abilities, and knew that it wasn't like him to make a mistake like that.

They hadn't been having much luck taking out the Insurrectionist snipers. Wyoming had taken out three, Virginia two, and her team of ODSTs had accounted for another three, but they had suffered casualties of their own, and for every Innie that they shot down, another one instantly took his place.

Still, eight to two wasn't bad, but they didn't have the same numbers that the Innies appeared to have, and with their motion trackers and radios down, it was going to be a long fight. Wyoming smiled as another Innie slowly raised his head up over the ledge across the street, pulled the trigger of his sniper rifle and grinned as the man's head exploded in a mist of red spray.

"Four to two, Virginia. You're falling behind."

He had just finished his taunt when Virginia's own sniper rang out, and an Insurrectionist collapsed out of the window of the fifteenth floor, slamming into the street below with a sickening _thud_. "Four to three, asshole," she replied from the far side of the room, reloading her rifle. "Don't get cocky yet!"

All of a sudden their radio crackled and both freelancers jumped, surprised by the sudden noise. **"Hello? Can anyone hear me?"** a familiar voice asked, his voice crackling slightly at the start but became clearer as he spoke.

Wyoming raised his hand to the side of his helmet, trying to blot out interfering noise. "We here you York. Guessing you found the jammer?"

" **We sure did, Wyoming, sorry about the wait. The Insurgents had dug themselves in pretty deep. We did _not_ have a fun time trying to clear them out."**

"Our motion trackers are back online," Virginia said, glancing over to Wyoming, who grinned from beneath his helmet.

"I'll get back to you, old chap. Virginia and I have some business to deal with," he informed York, and broke off the transmission.

He glanced over at his HUD, noticing that both their own men and the Insurrectionist snipers now showed up, and nodded to Virginia. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

* * *

"Building cleared," Wyoming informed Carolina over the radio, pausing to reload his rifle. He hefted it over his shoulder and glanced over at Virginia, who was talking to one of her ODSTs. "What now?"

He was surprised when, instead of Carolina's voice replying over the radio, the voice was that of the Director. **"Agent Virginia and yourself are to make your way to the Crown Plaza, just six blocks west of your current location. We're going to be pressing forward the attack, and will need the two of you to serve as our eyes in the sky."**

"Sir?" Wyoming replied, confused. "Does that mean that we have reinforcements inbound?"

The Director remained silent for a moment, before his southern drawl echoed over the radio once more. **"Indeed it does, agent. Indeed it does."**

* * *

Wyoming gaped as the sky filled with pelicans, several of which changed their course and landed in the Plaza next to the two agents, dozens of armed UNSC soldiers and Project Freelancer personnel promptly marching out of them, rushing towards the area of conflict with all due haste.

"I guess the cavalry have arrived," Virginia murmured next to him. "The Innies don't stand much of a chance now."

Wyoming shrugged. "I just wonder what the Director meant by 'eyes in the sky'?"

His question was swiftly answered when one of the falcons broke off from the main group and descended into the Plaza, landing next to them. The driver's cockpit opened and Wyoming's heart sank just a little as 343-R's cheery voice rang out: "I'm here to pick up an Agent Virginia and an Agent Wyoming?"

"You have got to be kidding me," Wyoming muttered as the two agents hopped into the falcon, sniper rifles in their arms. The falcon's rotors began to spin and they lifted off, throwing clouds of dust up into the air. Wyoming gulped back the all-too-familiar feeling of nausea and peered through the scope of his rifle, hoping that concentration on his work would help dispel it.

The sooner this battle was over, the better.


	33. Black Hawk Down

**Chapter Thirty-Two - Black Hawk Down**

**Agent Carolina**

**Written by Parabola of Mystery**

* * *

_"The greatest test of courage on earth is to bear defeat without losing heart." -_ Robert Green Ingersoll

* * *

The city of New Delphi was a peace, for now. Although 'at peace' didn't really seem like the right word choice. The Innies were out, but the entire city was in ruins. Carolina could see the damage as the raised higher and higher in the Mother of Invention. At least they were done there. She figured she'd had enough fighting for one day. She took off her helmet and touched her eye tenderly. It was puffy and swollen, and probably a lovely shade of purple. _Ah well. Shows I'm a fighter, I guess._

"That really brings out your eyes, you know." Carolina turned to the side to see York, smiling like a goon.

"You're not supposed to be in the cockpit, you know. Only the pilot and co-pilot are supposed to be here."

"I know that," he said, grinning. "I never really liked rules, though." He looked out the windshield to the city below. "You guys have a much better view than us. Not fair."

Carolina rolled her eyes. "Sorry this isn't exactly Air Tours of Haven."

York yawned and stretched his arms. "That was a long day. I could really use a burger or something right now. Mmmm. Yeah. That sounds nice."

"Yeah. It was a long day." Her mind flashed back to her lying on the ground, a gun pointed at her face. "Thanks, by the way."

"For what?"

Carolina bit her lip. "You know."

York paused. "Oh yeah. That. It… wasn't really a big deal." Carolina looked at him. Shooting that guy had really bothered him more than he wanted it too. She couldn't understand why. He was trained for this. Maybe there was something more to it. But he would have to get used to killing. There would be more to come. Much, much more.

"Everybody buckle in!" 479er yelled.

"What's going on?" York asked, confused.

"Does it fucking matter? Do what I say!" The plane banked hard to the right, and York smashed into the wall. He seemed to get the message and scrambled back to buckle himself in.

Carolina checked that her seat buckles were secured and put her helmet back on. "What's the situation?"

The plane went hard to the right this time, and Carolina heard a muffled thump from behind her. "Innies again," 479er said with clenched teeth. "They seem to be shooting everything they've got left at us." The pilot's voice suddenly got deathly quiet. "Yeah. That's a lot of missiles."

There was a bone-splitting crash as one as one of the missiles must've hit. 479er was mumbling under her breath. Carolina felt a sense of dread creeping over her. She'd never seen the pilot like this.

"Right wing hit!" York yelled from the back of the plane.

"Shit," the pilot muttered. "Everybody buckle in and make sure your helmets are on!"

"We're going to crash, aren't we?" Carolina asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

479er took a shuddering breath. "It's either that or be blown to smithereens in the air. People survive plane crashes all the time."

"I hope you're making a good decision here."

"Me too. Brace yourselves, people; it's going to get crashy."

* * *

When Carolina woke up, everything was upside down. Her head felt swollen, and her seat belt- she was still strapped into her seat- felt like it was slowly pushing into her body.

_We crashed_ , she thought. We crashed in the woods and now I'm hanging upside down. A sudden overwhelming panic overcame her and she was grabbing, fumbling at those bloody seat buckles and her fingers wouldn't move right, but she had to get out; she had to get out now. She found the bottom buckle and it popped open, and suddenly her lower body was leaning forward, falling out of the seat; she got the other one open and then she fell. She was higher up than she thought.

She smashed though part of an intact part of the windshield and hit the ground hard. The impact set electric shocks of pain through her body and radiated around her right arm. She tasted blood; she'd bitten her lip when she hit the ground, and blood was leaking throughout her mouth. With enormous effort, she rolled herself onto her stomach, off the arm she had landed on. The slightest movements sent feelings like nails on a chalkboard up her arm. She forced herself to look at it and immediately felt a wave of nausea; at her elbow her arm bent the complete wrong way.

She used her good arm to push herself up and against a chunk of metal, probably part of a wing. Stay focused. Stay calm. She used her good arm to pull off her helmet, and then turned her head to the side to spit out a mouthful of blood and what was part of her lip that she'd bitten off.

Assess your surroundings. Where are you? Is it safe? She was sitting on the ground. Looking up, the cockpit was above her, maybe ten to fifteen feet, caught in the branches of an enormous tree. Thank god the tree caught them; if they had a straight impact to the ground, the plane would've flattened itself like aluminium can. To the right was a large branch hanging by splinters, but Carolina guessed that if it fell, she wouldn't be in range. She looked up at the cockpit again. She could make out the white uniform of 479er, who was still dangling in her pilot's seat. Her seat was closer to the ground that Carolina's had been, but it was still out of her reach. Carolina called out the pilot's name, but 479er hung there limply.

Suddenly, there was a squeal of metal and the cockpit was coming down at her. Carolina yelped and flattened herself to the ground, but nothing happened; it hadn't completely crashed to the ground, but it was only about six feet from the ground now. Thankfully, 479er was much closer too.

I need to get her out of there before this thing falls any more, Carolina thought hurriedly. She got to her feet, using the chuck of plane to help her up. Her right arm dangled limply at her side, still sending pulses of pain though her body that set her teeth on edge.

"479er?" she called softly. The pilot groaned, but didn't move. Using her left arm, Carolina reached up and began to undo the seat buckles. Her left hand was clumsy and awkward, but eventually she got the nearest buckle undone. 479er began to slide out of her seat, so Carolina used her right shoulder to catch her as she undid the other buckle. The pilot fell, but unable to use her right arm, Carolina couldn't catch her and the two tumbled to the ground.

Carolina groaned and pushed 479er off of her. The cockpit creaked again, startling Carolina, but it didn't move. Time to go. She looped one of 479er's arms around her shoulders and dragged her out and away the cockpit.

Leaning the unconscious pilot against a tree, Carolina looked up at the Pelican, and with a shock, realized it actually was only half of the plane. It ended after the cockpit, with tangled teeth of charred metal. She felt like was going to throw up. Where were the others? And the rest of the plane?

Oh god. She didn't know what to do. She prepared herself all her life for everything. Except this. How could someone ever prepare for something like this? The Director didn't exactly give them a Plane Crash 101 course.

There was a cough behind her.

"Owwwww," 479er moaned, lifting her head. "That really sucked." She looked up at her plane, and through her visor Carolina could picture her devastated face as she stared at what used to be her Pelican. "Yep, that officially really sucked. Where are the Innies? I want to go kill some." 479er glanced at her, and Carolina could feel her eyes on her right arm, which was hanging limply at her side.

"What's wrong with your arm?"

Carolina bit her lip and turned slightly so it was a little more out of view. "Nothing."

_I can't be weak. Not now._

"Looks like a bit more than nothing, kiddo."

Carolina sighed. She was too tired to argue. Her mind was filled with so many things she couldn't keep track of them; the plane, the crash, the Director, the others, the Innies- oh god, the Innies. There was no doubt that whoever shot them down knew where they were, and were coming. "Shit."

"What?"

"We need to find the others. Right now."

479er pushed herself up against the tree into standing position. "Aren't we supposed to keep our heads still or something in case we have trauma?"

"Technically yes, but I thought you might not really want to sit around and keep your head still and wait for the Innies to find us."

"Hm. Good point."

Carolina set off into the woods; finding the other part of the plane wasn't overly difficult, seeing as a) it was a plane, and b) she just had to follow the trail of destruction to find it. The large plume of smoke helped, too. Soon enough she was approaching an even larger mass of twisted metal, radiating with heat as it burned.

"Well shit," 479er mumbled, which summed it up pretty well. Carolina felt pressure building on her chest. They're all fine. Just a couple cuts and bruises.

"York!" she called, but all she could hear was the sound of creaking metal. 479er glanced at her, not even trying to hide her worry. Carolina bit her lip. The noise from the fire and the slowly collapsing plane and the forest around her seemed to be getting louder and louder in her ears. "York!" she called again, with more desperation. Her chest was tightening and she couldn't breathe. They were alive. She knew it somewhere. She just needed to find them. She heard buzzing, but she couldn't tell if it was in her head or the sound of approaching Innie planes.

What if they found York and the others before she did?

She found herself running through the woods, stumbling. Branches and rocks kept finding their way in front of her feet. "York!"

"Carolina?"

Carolina fumbled, almost running into a tree and skidding on the forest floor. It was York's voice. She was certain of it. "York?"

She heard her name again, and took off toward the direction of the voice. Not a single thought was going through her mind. She dodged trees and fallen branches without even thinking, until she hit something solid and bounced backward.

She saw beige armor and before she could react, she was being crushed. Her arm was sending shock waves throughout her entire body, making her vision turn dark, but at the same time, she was the most relieved and relaxed she'd been all day.

"Ow, York," she mumbled, her voice muffled by his armor.

York released her from his crushing hug. "Sorry. Kind of thought you were dead." He looked down, and his eyes widened. "What happened to your arm?"

"Nothing," she said. "Do you have Massa and Alaska?"

"Nothing didn't happen to your arm, Carolina. Are you hurt?"

"It doesn't matter right now, just answer my damn question."

His eyes lingered on her limp arm, but eventually he looked back at her face. "They're fine, mostly. We moved away from the crash site in case the fire spread or something. Where's 479er?"

Carolina looked around. "She was right behind me." On cue, 479er stumbled into view and tripped over a rock. York laughed, and Carolina felt like she was flying. Her team was alive. Everyone was alive. They could get through this… but then she heard that buzzing in her ears, and this time she knew it was a plane. York heard it too, and his face paled.

"Take me to the others," Carolina said. York nodded, his face still pointed toward the sky. He grabbed her good hand and they set off at a run.

"Why are we always running?!" 479er yelled from behind them, but they kept going until they reached a gigantic tree. Massa was leaned in sitting position against it, her helmet on the ground next to her. There was a large trail of blood caked on her face, and she didn't seem to be conscious. Alaska stood protectively in front of her, but when he saw it was just York and Carolina (and eventually 479er, when she caught up) he relaxed a little.

"Thought you guys were Innies," he grumbled. "They're coming." He glanced at Carolina, and her broken arm, and his eyes narrowed. "We need to get out of here."

"No, we can't." York gestured to Massa. "She's in no condition to be moved."

Alaska stared at him with cold eyes. "Then we can fight them off."

Carolina looked at all of them. Alaska's DMR was leaned against the tree and York had a couple pistols on him, but that was all the weapons they had. She hadn't thought to grab hers, and the rest were probably melting in the Pelican. Not to mention her broken arm. She was a good shot with her left, but it wouldn't be the same. To add to that, 479er's combat training was okay at best, and Massa… she was just a shooting target at this point. "No," she said.

Alaska glared at her. "No?"

Carolina backed up until she had a tree to lean against. "If we fight, then we'll die. All of us."

Alaska opened his mouth, but York put up his hand to silence him. "She's right. We can't fight."

Alaska looked back and forth between the two of them, infuriated. "So what are we supposed to do? Surrender?"

"Exactly," Carolina said. She felt drained. She wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. "The Innies will find us. They will surround us, and when they demand us to put down our weapons and put our hands up and surrender, we will."

"You've got to be kidding," Alaska said, picking up his DMR. "We're just going to give up? Not even put up a fight? This is a joke. We are not going to make fools of ourselves."

The sound of rustling leaves and clanking armour was growing louder in Carolina's ears. Alaska raised his DMR, watching as the enemy soldiers approached them. 479er went to stand next to Carolina, trying to hide her shaking. Each second made her stomach churn more, but she didn't move and neither did York as she listened and watched the Innies surround them.

She was a failure. A complete, utter failure.

"Put your weapons on the ground and raise your hands!"

Alaska took a moment to stare Carolina directly in the eye. "You'd better be right about this," he muttered, and threw his rifle on the ground.

She hoped she was, too.


	34. Loose Tightlip

**Chapter Thirty-Three – Loose Tightlip**

**Agent Alaska**

**Written by Avalanche Wolf**

* * *

" _It is in my professional opinion, no matter how much the Director disagrees, that the subject is mentally unsound, however, still fit for duty. He seems to find pleasures where a normal person simply would not. The incident with the Insurrectionists is evident enough. But yet...there is a certain strength to him."_ \- From the medical logs of Counselor [LEVEL ZERO CLEARANCE REQUIRED]

* * *

_Tacky_ . That's the thought that came to Alaska's mind. The room wasn't all that impressive. He's been in bathrooms that looked better than this. But enough reminiscing. He tried to remember everything that happened. He remembered that they got surrounded. Some guy hit him on the back of the head, about five foot five, brown hair, scar on the right cheek, and everything went black. He woke up with his armour missing and his weapons. The other Freelancers were there as well, all restrained.

Alaska looked around the room again and finally spoke. "This colour is horrid."

York's voice rang out as soon as he heard Alaska's. "Well, it looks like the last of us is awake."

Carolina spoke as well. "I think we have more to worry about than the colour of the room."

Massachusetts moved slightly toward him, leaning in as if examining him. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

Alaska rolled his neck, letting some faint popping sounds come from it. "My head seems to be a bit sore."

Massachusetts sighed and leaned back. "Doesn't seem like a concussion. You should be fine."

Alaska noticed something as she moved away from him. "Those are some pretty nasty cuts you have," he noticed that she looked down to her arm and tried to hide it, almost ashamed. Alaska leaned his head slightly to the side. "Care to tell?"

She almost instantly shook her head. "No. I don't." Personal. That was one of the only reasons. The Innies had evidently already been busy.

The door opened and a pair of Insurrectionists walked in. They grabbed York and left, dragging him out. Alaska sighed. "Interrogation. Or torture. I would say the latter."

Massa looked at him. "What do they want?"

Carolina swiftly answered. "Probably looking for information about us and the project. My question, it was just us four in here. Where's 479er?"

Alaska leaned back. "Separation. Breaks the moral, limits communication, separates command structure, keeps us in line, might make us more compliant."

Massa stared at him. "How do you know that's what it's for?"

Alaska smiled as he looked at her. "Because it's what I would do if I caught you."

After a while, the men brought York back, throwing him onto the floor. He was in bad shape. Barely breathing, bruises and cuts all over him. They must have done a number on him. An example. They didn't really ask him any questions, just beat the shit out of him and tossed him back to break hope. A classic technique. One he used a lot. The men decided it was Alaska's turn. They grabbed him by the arms and lead him out the door.

He didn't think it was possible, and it _was_ very unlikely, but the hallway was even worse than the room he was being kept it. It lacked any colour. Alaska could handle grey, but this hall even lacked that. It was down the hall and the third door on the right. That was where they took him in and chained him to a chair and table. Alaska looked around, observing the room around him with an air of genuine interest. "You guys seriously need to get an interior designer. This place is horrible. Not even grey. I didn't think it was possible."

A large guy with no shirt, or hair walked up and looked down at him. Alaska looked up at him, his face with a slight mix of surprise and shock. "Mr Clean? What are you doing here? I thought you died years ago."

The man hit Alaska in the face. It felt like he just got hit with a dump truck. He shook his head and looked back up at Mr Clean. "This is your first time, right? You never start with the head. That's basics. The victim gets fuzzy after that. Then he can't feel the next hit."

Mr Clean brought his fist down hard on Alaska's arm, but he showed nothing. "You see? It's basics."

The man walked around him. "Who are you with? UNSC? ONI?"

Alaska sighed. "Yes. You caught me. I admit it. I was the second gunman on the grassy knoll."

The man smacked Alaska in the head and kept walking. "That armour we got from you is like SPARTAN armour. Is that what you are? SPARTANS?"

Alaska shook his head. "Spartans? No. I don't like that name. I prefer Centurions, or maybe Samurai." He was struck again as Mr Clean pulled the table away.

"Who is in charge?"

Alaska looked up, his lip bleeding and his eye beginning to swell. "A lovely man. Very inspiring. You might know him. He teaches a lot. His name is Captain. Captain Kangaroo."

Mr. Clean punched Alaska in the chest and grabbed him by the hair. "You better start talking, or I'll rearrange your face."

Alaska looked worried, with a smile. "Oh please don't. Not my face. I have a very important date soon. She's a very classy lady. Already wants to be with me. Speaking of which, I was wondering. How _is_ your sister?"

Button pressed. Mr. Clean lost it. Alaska was being hit one after another. This must have been the guy that worked on York. He finally pulled out a knife and held it to Alaska's throat. "I'm going to fucking kill you! Talk!"

Alaska looked up at him. "You are terrible at this. Your whole technique is horrible. I'll tell you what, when I get out of here, I'll teach you how to properly interrogate someone. You can practice on each other."

Mr. Clean brought his knife back and stabbed Alaska in the gut, twisting the knife before pulling it out.

The knife showed Alaska exactly what this guy was. He was the kind of guy who liked to pull the wings off flies. The kind of guy who was easy to anger, and went blind when he was mad. Alaska was the type who was calm, no matter the situation. Mr Clean was gonna be fun. Very fun in his hands. Secretly, he hoped that the others would catch him and the Director kept him alive. Alaska wanted to have more fun.

"Get this piece of trash out of here. We'll question the others later."

The men grabbed Alaska and pulled him out of the chair and down the horrible hallway again, throwing him into the room with the others. He was moved to a wall and Massa had her hands to her front, using a torn piece of her uniform to make a dressing on his stab wound. "Al, are you alright? You look horrible."

Alaska looked down at her. "It was horrible. It's unimaginable. It's the worst torture in the world. The hallway was worse than this room itself."


	35. Prison Break

**Chapter Thirty-Four - Prison Break**

**Agent Virginia**

**Written by anna1795**

* * *

" _Virginia, Virginia…you know, I thought about her, and quite a lot. I can't seem to make up my mind on it. She's caring, but she can also pack a punch. She's determined, but afraid of something. And she doesn't like to talk about herself. She seems alright, but…it's like she's hiding something. Then again, don't we all have something to hide?"_ – Agent Florida's Personal Log

* * *

"Can we at least TRY to double-time it?" Virginia cringed at Pennsylvania's hiss as they ducked under trees and over vines of the jungle near New Delphi. They had all turned off their radios off except for Florida, who was keeping in tune with the MOI for information on the downed Freelancers. So far, the news was sounding bleak. There had been no developments since the "eyes in the sky" (as Virginia liked to think of the managers on the bridge of the ship) had seen Carolina and the others surrender and be taken away by the Insurrectionists. Now, the remaining Freelancers were speeding through the jungle to try and track where the Innies had gone.

"Wyoming, give me something to work with," Penn barked to the Brit, who knelt down on the ground and looked for signs of which way the Innies had gone.

"They went south from here, towards that area over there," the white-armoured Freelancer pointed south through the trees. Penn nodded.

"Wait. There's something else here," Virginia murmured, waving them over to a rather large tree with several protruding branches. A piece of fabric hung limply in the humid air, and she pulled it off the branch. It matched the same material with the armour of the Insurrectionists. "They also went north. They split here for some reason."

"How do we know that they didn't just stop here for a bit while they debated where they were going to go?" Wyoming challenged. Virginia pointed to the ground.

"I've seen this tactic before. They split off into two groups here and go around in a splinter movement back to their base. If anyone tried to follow them, then they'd split up, get confused, and fall right into a nest of snakes."

"So, where would they go then?" Penn asked.

"I think I know," Florida pulled a tablet off of his person and drew up a map. "There's a set of old mines over here. They could easily slip in there and nobody would know."

"So, we WON'T take the routes that they used, and go straight," Wyoming mused. "They'll be expecting us to come in those two directions, but we'll go straight up the middle. Then what?"

"We go in, grab the team, and get out. Simple enough," Penn shrugged, but Virginia shook her head.

"It'll take too long to go with one at a time, and they'll most likely have split them up. We need to go up the middle, like Wyoming said, but then split up and go after an assigned team mate."

"Right, so we'll go with that plan," Penn decided. "Wyoming, you go after Carolina. Florida can take York. I'll take Alaska and 479r. Virginia, you grab Massa. We'll have about ten minutes to run in there, grab them, and get out. Five minutes is more likely, though. Set your mission clocks and initiate radio silence."

"Got it!" Virginia, Florida, and Wyoming answered in unison.

"Right," Penn said finally. "Let's move." They took off again through the trees, still treading carefully so as not to draw too much attention. Sure enough, true to Florida's word, a dilapidated mine shaft came into view, looking nondescript and unassuming. The groups of soldiers and armoured vehicles swarming around the place, however, were a different story.

Virginia looked over to Penn, who held up a fist to hold them in position. He pointed to Wyoming, who snuck around to the northeast. As soon as he was out of sight, Penn pointed to Florida and directed him southwest. Finally, the team leader looked to Virginia, tapped his wrist twice, and pointed her slightly more west than south. With a salute, Virginia took off at a run, using the protruding tree roots and her training to her advantage to maintain careful silence.

She braked suddenly and ducked behind a tree trunk as a pair of soldiers marched into view, both carrying assault rifles. She drew a serrated knife from its sheath, took a deep inhale, exhaled slowly, and counted in her mind. 1…2…3! With a burst of energy, she leapt out at the petrified soldiers and plunged her blade into the unprotected gap between one soldier's helmet and his armored chest. With a gurgle and sigh, he collapsed to the ground. Wasting no time, she grabbed the other's rifle in her armoured hand, twisted it harshly from his grip, and slammed him against a tree with her elbow at his neck. Before a sound could be made, she had the knife under his ear.

"You're going to answer a question for me and do it right, or I'll shove this up into your brain. Got that?!" Virginia hissed, applying more pressure to her elbow and constricting his windpipe. The soldier gagged and weakly nodded his head. "Injured soldier, in armour like mine, woman with brown hair, taken into your base. Where is she?"

After a moment of continued gagging, the soldier spat out, "South entrance, take a left, third door on the right. Can't miss it."

"Good," Virginia muttered. With a snarl, she slammed the tip of her knife upward behind the man's ear and into his brain stem, then gave a vicious twist. The Innie in her grip stiffened for one second and went immediately slack the next, having no time to scream. Carefully, Virginia lowered him so that he was leaning against the tree, his lolling head obscuring the fatal wound to the head. Sheathing her knife, Virginia made sure her sniper rifle was secured to her back, grabbed one of the rifles, and snuck off again.

It didn't take long for said entrance to come into view, guarded by at least twenty soldiers and a Scorpion tank. She hid in a clump of bushes again as a pair of headlights skimmed over the top. Then, thinking quickly, she opened up her radio channel slightly and sent a ping off to a certain pilot.

"Yello! This is 343-R, ace Pelican pilot extraordinaire! What can I do you for?"

"Hey, it's Virginia. I'm sending you some coordinates. Care to come and give us a lift?" she whispered.

"Can do, missy. I knew this Pelican would come in handy for picking up chicks someday!" the male pilot crowed on the other end. With a shake of her head, Virginia signed off.

"Hey, I think I heard something over here!" One of the soldiers shouted, and Virginia tensed. Had they heard her discussion? It really HAD been too risky to break radio silence! However, out of the corner of her visor, she saw them running west of her position. She realized that they must have been distracted by something of Florida's. The Scorpion's turret turned in a different direction than where she was, as did the lights flooding from around the mine entrance. Using a sudden burst of speed, Virginia bolted for the entrance, using the rifle to mow down three soldiers that squawked at her charge, and dove through the entrance just as all the attention was turned back to where three bodies lay crumpled in the dirt. Florida would have to take care of himself from here.

True to her victim's instructions, there was a hallway on the immediate left, and Virginia slid into that to come face to face with five heavily armed Innies. She used her last three shots on the first two, shuffled backwards to avoid returned fire, and grabbed her sniper rifle. She rolled from her position and took aim, her bullets slamming into the face, chest, and stomach of two of her enemies. The last one was still standing, but not after a carefully aimed knife that lodged itself between his eyes. The last soldier fell, but Virginia's entrance hadn't necessarily been quiet. She could hear more soldiers on the way. She needed to hurry.

"Massa!" Virginia called into the third door on the right, and a pained moan was her only answer. Wasting no time with the ancient wooden door, Virginia kicked it in and grabbed her roommate, who had been carelessly dropped on the floor of the old cell. Dust and blood mixed together with who knew what else to make a nasty sludge for the unconscious woman to be laying in, and it had caked and dried on her face. Virginia holstered her rifle and scooped up her slighter teammate in a fireman's carry. Massa was a lightweight, but Virginia knew that she couldn't hold her teammate up forever if she was chased.

"Virginia?" Another voice called. "That you out there?" It was cracked and pain-laden, but there was no mistaking the voice of York. She rushed out of the cell, saw Florida join her, and pointed to where she heard York's voice come from, right across the hall. Florida took out the lock with a shot from his newly acquired shotgun, and it flew open with a bang.

York leaned against the doorway, his tan armour missing, replaced with a tattered t-shirt and trousers, his body covered in bruises and scratches, blood that trickled from scars on his face. He gave a weak grin as Florida put his arm over his shoulder. "What took you guys?" he croaked. A large bruise was turning ugly shades of green and purple on his throat. He had apparently said the wrong things to the wrong people.

"Good to see you too, York," Florida greeted the wounded Freelancer jovially. "I suppose we should take our leave?"

Virginia stopped him before he could move. "What's happened to their armour?"

"Innies took it. Were very interested in it, apparently. Penn said he'd, and I quote, 'deal with it'."

"Okay, then. Let's get out of here. 343-R should be right outside," Virginia said, directing them to the doorway. The sound of approaching Insurrectionists were DEFINITELY getting louder now. They started hustling towards the south entrance of the mine and escaped the musty air. Virginia and Florida both paused. They could see enemy soldiers running towards their position outside.

"Florida, want to help me give them a little present?" Virginia took out a frag grenade.

"I was just thinking the same thing," Florida nodded, drawing out another grenade. With careful throws, they pulled the pins and chucked the two weapons through the hole in the earth and took off running towards the trees, their charges in tow.

Virginia ducked behind a tree and pressed Massa close to her chest while Florida did the same with York. A few seconds later, and the ground literally shook under their feet. Rock and debris exploded upwards as part of the ground caved in and sank around their exit, trapping everything inside the section of the mine. The earth split and threatened to spiderweb to the jungle, but stopped partway and simply caved into the enormous fissure. The mine, and their pursuers, were gone forever.

The branches of the trees blew in all directions as a large aircraft appeared overhead. A Pelican dropped from the sky and hovered expectantly over the scarred surface. "Where am I supposed to land?!" 343-R asked indignantly over the radio. Virginia and Florida simply carried York and Massa over the remaining boulders to the closest available point and kind of tossed them haphazardly onto the Pelican. Virginia strapped the two injured Freelancers into available seats while Florida went to speak with the pilot. York had just passed out.

"Attention, passengers. This is your captain speaking. We will be departing from this airport terminal at a breakneck pace to scoop up a few other stragglers over on the other side and then make a beeline for our destination, the Mother of Invention. I'd strap in if I were you, boys and girls. The medical staff getting ready for our injured guests will probably NOT appreciate an extra load to their work. Refreshments are not served on this flight. Have a good day!" 343-R spoke cheekily and haughtily over the loudspeaker and signed off with a snap. Virginia could only shake her head as she checked Massa's pulse examined a large cut on York's head. She looked over slowly at Florida, who stood in the entrance to the cockpit.

"Nothing," he said quietly. "I won't disturb you." The blue-armoured Freelancer sat down quietly and strapped in, obviously very tired. They all would be, Virginia mused as she took a seat next to Massa while 343-R spun the plane around in a daredevil manoeuver and hovered close to the ground. She was barely coherent as Wyoming half-carried Carolina onto the deck or Penn pulling 479r from his shoulder so that he could finish hauling a mumbling Alaska on board, muttering vaguely about how the missing armour had been "taken care of". By the time the door had closed and they were speeding upwards, she was already dead asleep.


End file.
